


My Last Day Without You

by quinndk



Category: Hockey RPF, Original Work, Sports RPF
Genre: Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Hockey, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Male Slash, NHL RPF, National Hockey League, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Slash, Queer Themes, Rating: M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash, Smut, Sports, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 13:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6008179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinndk/pseuds/quinndk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henrik "The Viking" Ford is the hottest captain in the NHL. Ezra is an aspiring young artist trapped in a frustrating office job. After a chance encounter, sparks fly and a romance blooms between both men. But Henrik is only in town for one day and Ezra has a strict policy against long distance relationships. Can Henrik convince him they have something worth fighting for?</p><p> A lot can happen in just one day...  [Slash, M/M] [Original Characters]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Long Shot

 

Ezra's day was supposed to start better than this.

He woke up knowing (well, assuming) he was getting a promotion, a full year after starting his first real job. That was the good part. However, Ezra was currently trapped in a long line at the corner cafe, his entire office's drink order clutched in his sweaty hands, _and_ he was late. Late for his own damn promotion. That was the bad part.

The lateness was Ezra's own fault, he'd been up all night drawing. His office job was a far cry from what he really wanted to do - become an artist for a comic publisher like Marvel, DC, or Dark Horse - but he didn't have enough sketches to fill a portfolio yet. And it's not like drawing had paid any of his bills. For now, it would just have to remain a passionate hobby...

Ezra stood a little straighter upon seeing he was the youngest person in line. It wasn't much of a surprise considering it was a cafe in the heart of the city's older financial district. _Plus, no one else in line looks as obnoxiously anxious as I do right now_...

Ezra tucked a wavy strand of golden brown hair behind his ear when he heard a squeal of delight from somewhere in the back of the cafe. Curious, he turned to find a group of starstruck women surrounding a tall, athletic, bearded man in gym clothes. He was signing autographs for them but Ezra didn't recognize the face. Whoever he was, he certainly stood out amongst the conservative suits and pencil skirts.

Ezra fought the instinct to roll his eyes. Although he'd spent the last year writing about celebrities for PopViral, he was never one to fawn in anyone's presence, famous or not. Besides, he didn't even know who this beardo was.

"Next!" the barista at the counter called. It took Ezra a moment too long to realize she was talking to him and a severe man in a grey suit stepped ahead to take his place.

"Hey!" Ezra called out, but the severe man pretended not to hear him.

"Medium latte. Extra foam. Now, please," Mr. Grey Suit boredly demanded, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

"Hey, I was next," Ezra said firmly, but his protest was pointedly ignored.

Ezra's whole body tensed. _Who does this asshole think he is?_ He didn't normally like to raise a fuss in public but he really needed the damn drinks for his damn office, and he was already so late...

"Excuse me, sir," a deep voice boomed. Ezra looked to his left and saw the tall beardo tapping Mr. Grey Suit on the shoulder. Up close, Ezra noticed the man's steely blue eyes, chocolate brown hair, and the swell of his broad, muscular chest under his t-shirt. _Definitely an athlete_ , Ezra thought, feeling flushed all of a sudden. _He could probably drop Mr. Grey Suit without even breaking a sweat_...

"Excuse me, sir," the athlete repeated, his patience edging away. "But I believe you cut in front of this young gentleman, here." Ezra couldn't quite place the deep accent but he sounded vaguely Scandinavian. Swedish, maybe.

Mr. Grey Suit looked up from his phone. Ezra braced himself for a shouting match, but the man's natural glare melted.

"Are you-? Holy shit, you're _The Viking_! Henrik Ford!" Mr. Grey Suit held out a trembling hand. The look of pure adoration on the man's face made Henrik frown and cross his arms over his beefy chest.

"It doesn't matter who I am," Henrik said. "Before you go back to the end of the line where you belong, you should apologize to this young man for cutting in front of him."

"Henrik- er, Mr. Ford- I'm a huge fan- I've been following your career since your rookie season-"

Henrik said nothing. His rugged features betrayed no emotion. Mr. Grey Suit looked from him to Ezra as confusion became shame. "I'm sorry," Mr. Grey Suit mumbled and shot to the back of the line, his reddening face ducked low.

Henrik grumbled something under his breath in the direction of the embarrassed man then turned his attention to Ezra. Their eyes met for the first time and neither of them knew what to say immediately. An uncertain smile tugged at the corner of Ezra's mouth.

"Thank you so much," Ezra managed. "Nobody's ever..." He trailed off, unsure of how much he wanted to reveal to a total stranger. He didn't often find himself tongue-tied in front of a total Greek god.

Henrik pointed to the list clutched in Ezra's hand. "Is this your order?"

"Yeah. It's for my office. It's kind of long, and I'm already twenty minutes late-"

"Here," Henrik gestured for him to hand the list over. "Please, it's on me."

"Oh, you don't need to do that," Ezra said, though he was already giving Henrik the paper scrap. His body and his mind often disagreed. "They'll compensate me back at the office."

"Really, it's no problem." Henrik smiled warmly before he turned to submit the order to the barista. Something about Henrik's generosity - coupled with his grizzled, dark good looks - made Ezra feel several degrees warmer. He tried to remind himself he wasn't a teen anymore, but a 24 year old who knew how to control himself.

_I hope_.

* * *

Henrik had been a professional hockey player for ten years, and captain of his team for the last four, so he knew his way around a tough opponent. And Mr. Grey Suit had not, by any definition of the word, been a challenge for him. He didn't know much about business, but he knew an entitled corporate type when he saw one. Seeing the son of a bitch treat that poor young man like dirt was unacceptable. Especially over something as trivial as coffee.

After paying for the young man's order, Henrik helped him bring both trays out to the cafe patio.

"I'm Ezra, by the way," he said. He was nervous and seemed very young, handsome in a delicate way. His hair looked brown in the cafe lighting, but outside it was lighter, almost blond. "And this was really nice of you. I wish I had something better to offer than a dumb 'thanks'."

Henrik smiled at him again, holding Ezra's vibrant, forest-green eyes like a warm handshake. "A 'thanks' is all I need. And whoever that douchebag was, I let him off easy."

"Sadly, this part of the city happens to be douchebag central."

"My name is Henrik. My buddies call me Hank." He waited for a flicker of recognition to cross Ezra's boyish features, but it never happened. No lightning strike of familiarity, no sudden change of expression.

_Wow_ , Henrik thought. _That doesn't happen often. Guess he isn't much of a hockey fan_.

"So do you work around here?" Ezra asked, genuinely curious.

A strange relief coursed through him. Henrik enjoyed meeting his fans, a legion that only seemed to grow every season, but the hero worship often got too much for him to handle. Meeting someone with no preconceptions of him was a breath of fresh air.

"Actually, uh," Henrik couldn't help but chuckle, "My hotel is just around the corner. I was on my way to a gym."

Ezra's eyes lowered, seeing Henrik's exercise shorts, bare legs, and running shoes for the first time. His high cheekbones went pink. Henrik felt a certain part of his own anatomy blush, but it definitely wasn't his face.

_Hey now, cool it. You've got other things to worry about today, like that press conference. You're not trying to get laid here, you're just being a gentlemen._

_...Right?_

Ezra's eyes danced across Henrik's face, as if he was trying to memorize every detail as quickly as possible. "Are you here on business? Visiting family?"

Henrik couldn't erase his grin if he tried. "I suppose you missed the game last night, then."

"Game?"

"Leafs versus the Knights. Made for some quality hockey. Though your home team was beaten pretty soundly, if you don't mind me saying."

"Ohhhh." Ezra connected the dots. "Hockey. Right. I'm not much of a sports fan. At all, actually. The most exercise I get is running to work."

_Explains that tight little body of yours_ , said a devilish voice that desperately wanted to be heard. Henrik kept that voice quiet and hidden - he might have been a beast on the ice but he was never, ever that forward with other men. Hell, it hadn't been that long since everyone thought he dated women. Coming out of the closet only two years ago meant that Henrik, at the age of 30, was still an amateur when it came to his love life. He only hoped it wasn't _that_ obvious.

"I actually play for the Knights, I'm team captain. We're here from Portland," Henrik explained.

Ezra's eyes widened for a moment. "When I said I wasn't a sports fan..."

"Hey. No offense taken," Henrik said as earnestly as he could. "It's been a while since I had a conversation with someone that wasn't about neutral zone trapping."

"I'm guessing that's a hockey thing?"

"You guessed right."

A hesitant silence engulfed them, longer than either felt comfortable with. It wasn't until Ezra took a glance at his phone that the quiet had broken.

"Oh, shit!" His voice spiked with urgency. "I'm getting a promotion today - I think - and I keep forgetting that I'm really fucking late for it. Listen, I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay here but I really need to go."

Ezra tried to take the second tray of coffee but Henrik held onto it. "Wait, how far away is your job?"

"The office is about four blocks from here. But if I run, I can-"

"If you run, you'll show up with only half of these coffees intact," Henrik said thoughtfully. He turned to the street and whistled. A nearby taxi almost took down a fire hydrant to stop in front of them.

"Come on," Henrik held the taxi's back door open for him. "We need to get going."

" _We_?"

"Well, you can't carry all these drinks by yourself."

Ezra started to say something but decided not to Whether he was impressed or put off, Henrik wasn't sure, he only wished that Ezra took his gesture as a gallant one.

"I guess there's no harm in that," he finally said. Henrik could have sworn he saw the start of an enchanted smile as they entered the backseat together.

* * *

Ezra spent the short taxi ride gripping his coffee tray with the nervous might of an Olympian. He couldn't believe that his beardo defender was a real NHL hockey player.

_Henrik Ford. Good name. Sounds like a Nordic war general or something._

He didn't really know anything about the Portland Knights beyond their mascot - a dragon in a suit of armor. He even worried that Henrik might have taken offense to the fact that he didn't recognize him, but the man didn't seem bothered at all. In fact, Henrik had been nothing but a perfect gentlemen, warm and polite, if somewhat reserved.

_But would a truly reserved man be touching legs with you right now?_

Part of the reason Ezra held his coffee tray with such a death grip was the fact that Henrik's bare knee was grazing the side of his left calf. He didn't think the hockey player was doing it on purpose - Henrik was extraordinarily tall and they didn't have much room in the cramped cab. Still, the whisper of contact sent an excited shiver through Ezra's tight body. His only regret was how short the taxi ride was, and how quickly their subtle stimulation ended.

After a long, awkward, and crowded ride up his office building's elevator, Ezra finally reached the floor of PopViral's headquarters. When Ezra first started working there a year ago he was simply stunned by how hip, modern and open the whole space was. Being the world's most popular online source of memes, listicles and social news, they certainly had the cash to burn. However, the wonder had worn off for him, and now Ezra saw what the rest of the world saw - hipsters riding hoverboards while playing Foosball and ignoring their actual work.

"People work here?" Henrik asked in amazement.

Ezra briefly negotiated the snark level of his answer. He settled on low. "Sometimes."

The receptionist shot up from her desk and ran to his side. "Ezra! You got here first, thank Christ. Heather called, she's stuck in traffic."

Relief surged through Ezra and he let his shoulders relax for the first time that morning. "Praise every deity known to man." Heather, his boss, definitely didn't need to know he came to work thirty minutes late on the day of his (assumed) promotion.

"You better get that coffee to the kitchen ASAP," the receptionist urged. "Kanye dropped a surprise album an hour ago and the music team has officially threatened to strike." Her eyes flickered from him to Henrik, standing half a foot taller than her, a viking in workout gear. "Oh... and who is this?"

"Henrik, ma'am. Pleased to meet you." He shook her hand genially.

The receptionist's eyebrows shot up her forehead. "And this is your... _friend_ , Ezra?"

"I..." Ezra had a bad habit of starting a sentence before knowing where it ended. That particular moment was a shining example of it. "I'm going to get these coffees into the kitchen. Bee-are-bee."

He took the second tray from Henrik and left the reception area in a hurry, his face as red as the PopViral logo that hung above the office kitchen entrance. He nudged aside a box of donut holes to make room for the trays. Ezra took the moment to calm his breathing and collect himself.

_You know, for a day that threatened to start in an epic shitstorm, things actually leveled off. That happens... approximately never in my life._

Ezra leaned against the counter. His body was still thrumming with relief. Half-smiling, he picked through the donut holes until he found his favorite, the banana bread kind.

_And hey, a studly stranger-turned-hockey-player escorting you to work is definitely a check in the win column. Even if he's only here for one more day_. _And I'll never see him again._

The half-smile disappeared by the time Ezra popped the mini donut into his mouth. He wasn't sure if he had the right to be disappointed or not. Henrik had been so nice to him, nice in a way that extended beyond mere politeness to a stranger. But did that actually mean anything?

Ezra's history with men was a minor disaster. He'd only had a couple of boyfriends and both relationships ended badly. Friends encouraged him to try all the usual apps, which yielded three types of responses from men: indifference, fetishization, and open hostility. After a few dismal dates, Ezra just gave it up altogether. He always thought he was okay looking, sometimes he even attracted a few furtive glances from passing strangers. But his empty, post-apocalyptic love life appeared to say otherwise. If a ruggedly handsome athlete was showing any romantic interest in him, it couldn't have existed anywhere except in Ezra's head. He wasn't trying to put himself down, he was being _realistic_. Things like that didn't happen to him. It just wasn't in the scope of his all-too mundane world.

"Ez, my man!" The voice behind startled him. Ezra turned and saw Josh, the sports editor, making a beeline for the coffee. "Think I can steal one of those lattes before the music geeks find out?"

"Your funeral," Ezra shrugged.

"Right on." Josh grabbed one of the takeout cups. "Hey, sorry to rush out, but I'm gonna try to get some face time with the Viking. I can't believe he's in the office today! Especially after that fucking epic game last night. You'd think he and the rest of the Knights would be hungover as hell from all the celebrating."

"Wait. Are you talking about-?"

Josh frowned. "Henrik Ford. He's the Viking, man! The Swedish Stallion! And only _the_ best captain in the league, if my professional opinion counts for anything. And I happen to think it does." Josh leaned out of the kitchen and stole a glance toward reception. "Shit. The girls got to him already. Guess they don't really follow hockey."

Ezra furrowed his brow and joined Josh's vantage point, leaning out of the kitchen. "What do you mean, exactly?" A gaggle of writers Ezra recognized from the fashion department were jockeying for attention around a clearly flustered Henrik. Ezra stopped just short of grinning.

"What do I _mean_?" Josh repeated, bewildered. "You're... uh, you're part of the LGBT community, right?"

"Right..." Ezra trailed off, unsure where this was going.

"Then you should probably know that Henrik Ford came out two years ago. He'd only been team captain for a couple of seasons and then he became the first openly gay NHL player in history. It was huge news, bro."

Ezra's mouth opened but no words came out. He looked at Henrik again and found that the revelation made sense. Around him, Henrik had been effortlessly charming, but around an adoring female presence he had a sort of bashful, flattered-but-not-interested demeanor. He felt a little stupid for not putting two and two together on his own. "I didn't know that about him. He only told me he played for the Knights... which I realize now is obvious to everyone in the world except me."

"Wait, so you know him, then?"

"What? No. No, I just met him this morning. Total fluke. He offered to help bring coffee to the office, that's all."

Amazed, Josh slapped his own forehead ."Oh MAN. Listen, you need to hook me up with an interview. Or a full feature! That man is notorious for shrugging off press. Getting the Viking the morning after a game? With my name in the byline? Bro, I'm not a religious man, but as God as my witness, I _need_ to get this article."

Ezra rolled his eyes and slid away from him. "I'm ignoring you now."

"Ez!" Josh called out, hurt. "My man! Come on!"

Ezra left the kitchen and tapped the passing shoulder of Amanda, the music editor. "Hey, Josh in sports just took your latte." Ezra walked away, hearing Amanda's scowl followed by Josh's shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor.

He caught Henrik's glance as he re-entered the reception area, which was now entirely swarmed with women and a handful of sports department bros. Ezra hadn't seen the office this abuzz since they held that corgi calendar shoot last year.

"Uh, if you'll excuse me, ladies," Henrik cleared his throat and waded through the swarm. "I have to get back to practice."

"We can help you stretch..." Ezra heard one of the girls say, followed by scandalized giggles.

_Wow. The ecstasy and agony of sports fame_ , Ezra thought as Henrik emerged from the crowd. They both slipped out of the front exit door and into the hallway outside.

"I'm really sorry about that," Ezra sighed. The air was cooler in the open, empty corridor. "My coworkers are vultures."

"It's really quite alright. I've had ten years to get used to it." Henrik found the elevator panel and pressed the down button. A knot in Ezra's stomach formed as he remembered that Henrik's presence in his life was only temporary.

"Thank you again for everything," Ezra said, trying not to sound panicked or rushed. "This is the nicest thing a guy's done for me in... quite a while."

Henrik nodded, staying humble. "This job seems very important to you."

"It's my first real, adult, 'big boy' job, you know? And I think I'm getting a promotion today. I mean, I don't know that officially, but my boss has been hinting pretty hard."

"Wow. Congratulations. Or, pre-congratulations."

"I'll take either." They shared another smile. Ezra rather liked the way it lit up the man's dark, rugged features.

Henrik absently watched the elevator's indicating light slowly ascend. "It's a great feeling. Being promoted to captain was the best day of my life. Second best, I should say."

Ezra tried to ignore the pit of despair that grew as the elevator drew nearer. A few more levels and Henrik would be out of his life forever. "What was your _first_ best day, then?"

Henrik paused, momentarily caught off guard. The hardness around his blue eyes softened. "That would be the day I was finally... able to speak honestly about myself."

A silent, insightful moment developed between them.

"Yeah," Ezra nodded with familiarity. "I know the feeling."

_Ding_.

The elevator reached their floor and slid open to reveal an empty car. Henrik's eyes lowered briefly. "I should be on my way, then."

"Wait-" Ezra said, barely aware he had objected at all. "I'll ride down with you. Just to say goodbye."

"Oh, sure. I would like that," Henrik agreed.

They entered the elevator and Henrik pressed the lobby button. With a mechanical groan, the car began its descent. Ezra's heart pounded against his chest so loudly he could barely hear his own thoughts chastising him.

_Just what the hell are you doing? Bud, you're only drawing out an awkward moment that's already long past its expiration date._..

Acting on impulse wasn't something Ezra was known for. Acting on a flight of fancy - such as the ridiculous belief something might develop between the two of them in such a short period of time - was much rarer.

Then Henrik stepped closer. His big body sucked up all the oxygen, and Ezra's breath came faster to compensate.

_Oh god. What is he doing? What am_ _**I** _ _doing?_

Their eyes met and locked, the heat of desire and promise of something carnal filling the space between them. Ezra felt the last of his composure slip away. He took a half-step closer to the athlete, upping the ante.

"Henrik..."

Before Ezra could finish, the hockey player took his shoulders and held him up against the elevator's back wall. His grip was firm, but not rough. Henrik breathed in a charged, animalistic way, as if holding back a lustful tide that threatened to destroy them both. Ezra had never seen anything sexier than Henrik's face at that moment, a predatory gleam that pinned him in place. Their bodies drew closer, Ezra basking in the hungry warmth of his large torso, swearing he heard a low growl in Henrik's throat as he leaned down while Ezra stood up on his toes, just close enough for their lips to-

_Ding_.

The elevator came to its abrupt stop in the lobby and the doors parted. Henrik jumped back, startled.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, fumbling his way out of the lift and onto the lobby's marble floor.

"No, no- I'm sorry-" Ezra offered back, though he didn't understand what either of them were apologizing for.

"It was nice to meet you," was all Henrik said as he gave Ezra one last, flushed look. He crossed the lobby quickly and disappeared out into the street.

_And that's it_ , Ezra thought mournfully. _He'll be back in Portland by this time tomorrow and I'll never see him again._

Ezra doubled back to the elevator's furthest wall and stood frozen until the doors automatically sealed again. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. A single drop of sweat rolled down his slim, warm face.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I never act on impulse." Ezra sighed and hit the button of his office floor. As the lift gears started to turn, he faintly wondered if he'd ever get a chance to redo their goodbye.


	2. Penalties and Recoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra comes to a personal crossroads as he receives some rather unexpected career news. Meanwhile, Henrik just can't get his encounter with Ezra out of his mind - and he decides to take matters into his own hands.

_WHACK!_

Henrik's slap shot went wide and missed the net completely.

Fuck- _whack_ \- my- _whack_ \- life- _whack_!

"Bonjour, Hank!"

Henrik looked up from the line of pucks he had destroyed to see his teammate and best friend, Xavier Brunner, leaning toward the ice from the players' box. Xavier was showered and dressed in jeans and a Knights tee - maroon with their silly dragon logo. Suppressing another profanity at his missed shots, Henrik skated over to the bench.

"What do you need, Xav?"

"The other guys are getting dressed. They wanted me to ask when you were done," Xavier said. His French accent remained thick as ever but his English had improved immensely since joining the Knights as a defenceman last year. "We need our captain if we are to celebrate _la victoire_ over lunch, _non_?"

Henrik yanked off one of his gloves and removed his helmet. "You guys can head off without me."

Xavier's dark eyes narrowed slightly. "Something is bothering you."

Henrik took a seat on the bench and ran his fingers through his sweaty brown hair. "And what would that be bothering me, Xav?"

"Ah, well, you know what they say about Friday the 13th," Xavier replied sheepishly.

Henrik appreciated the tactful way his friend danced around the issue. Tomorrow was February 14th. A day full of pink hearts and candy that had filled Henrik with dread ever since a very particular February 14th a couple of years ago. A day that resurfaced from the dark corners of his mind to beat down his concentration. He was thankful he'd manage to put the looming date out of his mind during last night's game to see the Knights to victory against Toronto. As the team captain he was responsible for his men; just the thought of freezing up during a game made his gut twist.

"I'm fine," Henrik said, even and imperceptible.

Xavier took a seat next to his friend and sighed, deeply. "Don't lie, Hank. You were on fire yesterday, but since this morning you've been- how do you say- overthinking everything. You nearly broke your foot kicking the weight machine at the gym. Then you snapped three sticks at practice and you're _still_ here pounding the ice. There's... more on your mind than just the date, isn't there?"

Henrik took off his second glove, saying nothing. He should have known Xavier would see through him. Though they'd only been teammates for one year, they'd played hockey together on and off as friends for the better part of a decade.

" _Mon dieu_ , you Swedes! So frosty and quiet. Always so afraid to speak up and stand out."

"You're thinking of the Danes," Henrik grumbled.

"Same thing," Xavier shrugged as he smoothed the end of his mustache. It was a Movember affectation that he decided to keep, much to the amusement of his teammates. Everyone seemed to be aware of the mustachioed Frenchman stereotype except him.

Henrik tried not to laugh, despite his own concerns. "If I tell you what's on my mind, you can't repeat any of this to the guys. Clear?"

"Of course," Xavier nodded. He knew better than anyone that Henrik's privacy meant the world to him. The Portland Knights were solid guys, but he had to lead them, keep them centered, and command their respect. Henrik couldn't do that if they were gossiping about his social life - even if it was largely non-existent.

Henrik wiped the moisture off his neck with a towel. "I met someone this morning. A boy."

Xavier's eyes lit up. "Hank, this is wonderful! _Félicitations_!"

"No, no," Henrik cut in, "It's not. I made a fool out of myself. I was too... eager with him."

"We are men, Hank." Xavier slapped his chest proudly. "We are always eager."

"But I'm not just a man. People look up to me. I can't lose control of myself like that in front of someone."

Xavier gently tutted and shook his head. "You've spent the last two years focused on everything but yourself. We aren't in Toronto for much longer, my friend. I feel that your _jeune homme_ will allow a second chance if you give yourself one."

Henrik unlaced his skates."You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know _you_. I know you've never mentioned a boy or dating to me before. You don't tell me anything unless you think it's important."

Henrik pulled off a skate with a sigh. _Boy, do I ever hate it when he's right._ "I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I'm not great with problems off the ice."

"Do you want to see this boy again?"

"Of course I do." Henrik took off the other skate and let it fall to the floor. "But like you said, we're only in Toronto for the day."

"And the day is still young! Go get to know him. Spend the rest of your time with him."

"You don't think he'd find it strange? The day before Valentine's Day?"

Xavier shot him an amused look. "You are Henrik The Viking Ford. This boy, is he blind?"

" _No_ , you dolt. He's seen me."

"Then he will not care what day it is, considering who his _beau compagnon_ will be." Xavier reached over and pinched one of Henrik's bearded cheeks. Henrik stifled back a laugh and gave Xavier a rough but brotherly shove.

"I am shocked more boys don't throw themselves at your feet, _mon frère_."

"Stop, it Xav." The truth was that Henrik experienced way more than his fair share of propositions from other guys, even before he had publicly come out. To his surprise, the majority of men he attracted were much like him - brawny, solid, working class types who couldn't be bothered to shave. But Henrik wasn't interested in hooking up with his mirror reflection - where was the fun? The challenge? The excitement? Ezra represented something different, a type of guy he'd never paid much attention to before, but now it made sense. Ezra was headstrong and independent, no doubt, but he could tell he had a gentle soul. Like someone Henrik could... well... take care of.

 _Take care of._ The words echoed in his mind. _Wow. You might want to hit pause before ordering those his-and-his towels, Viking. You don't even know Ezra's last name._

His thoughts weren't exclusively driven by romance, either. Henrik knew the moment he laid eyes on Ezra that he craved the touch of his smooth, lean body, to experience those full, lush lips, to feel his hands trailing down skin and muscle and-

Xavier cleared his throat, bringing his teammate back to reality. "Once we're back in Portland, we won't have any time for fun. Four games in the next week and we've got a ruthless training schedule. Take this time for yourself, Hank. Nobody will hold it against you." He squeezed one of Henrik's massive shoulders. "And perhaps  
_s'envoyer en l'air_ will help you be a little friendlier and a little less..." Xavier's face twisted in an angry, monstrous expression - a pantomime of Henrik's ferocious concentration.

Henrik had been around the man long enough to know all his various euphemisms for getting laid. "If you don't get out of my sight I'm sending your body back to Bayonne wrapped in the Swedish flag."

"What ever happened to international diplomacy?" Xavier rose to his feet with a sigh. "Just think about what I said, yeah?"

Henrik watched him leave and mulled over his friend's words. Xavier was right - it was midseason and their schedule was only growing more hectic with every passing day. Today was the only time off they'd have in a long, long while.

Henrik grabbed his things and headed to the empty arena's dressing room to shower and change, hoping he could clear his head before deciding what to do next. As he undressed, he hoped Ezra was having a less complicated day than his, and that he got that promotion he was so excited for. The corner of Henrik's mouth tugged. He remembered being that young and that excited to experience what the world had in store for him.

* * *

By 11 am, Ezra was on the bus back to his apartment. After a couple of tense hours waiting for his boss to arrive and drop the good news on his lap, she ended up dropping something entirely different on him.

Ezra had been fired.

He, along with the entire pop culture reporting team, had been made redundant as the result of 'corporate restructuring', as Heather delicately worded it. The news came at him with the force of a sledgehammer. Was the last year of his life just one big waste of time? He lost so many hours whittling away word counts on pieces about Rihanna's vacation photos and the minutiae of Tom Hardy's beard. Hours he could have spent doing something, _anything_ of actual value.

A pervasive numbness gripped Ezra, blurring the memory of leaving Heather's office, sweeping the contents of his desk into a banker's box, and leaving that wretched, self-consciously hip workspace for the last time. He was dimly aware of the fellow passengers on the bus, most of whom had given his sad face a passing glance. It couldn't have been more obvious that he'd just been laid off. If you were on public transit mid-day with a banker's box in your arms, there was probably a tragic reason behind it.

"Stupid," Ezra muttered to himself, closing his eyes to the bright, thundering world around him.

 _Stupid. That's exactly what I am for thinking a job at a company whose slogan is '_ _ **#Newsworthy**_ _' would be anything but short term._ _Stupid for getting so excited about a promotion that was only in my head! Stupid for bragging about it to Henrik like it was a done deal_...

Henrik. Ezra was mortified beyond belief that such a horrible day intersected with meeting the nicest, most decent, most unbelievably gorgeous man he'd ever laid his eyes on. A man that he totally fumbled an intimate moment with in his former office's elevator.

A man who was now long gone from his life.

* * *

Ezra pushed open the door to his condo and dropped the banker's box to his feet. A rush of paws against the hardwood floor announced the excited arrival of his pet corgi, Rhubarb. Ezra smiled and bent down to scoop up the furry loaf of bread into his arms.

"Hey boy." He tried not to sound sad.

Rhubarb sniffed and licked at his face enthusiastically, charged with the primal excitement of being reunited with his owner a few hours earlier than usual. Ezra relaxed a little, enjoying the ridiculous animal's affection. He kissed the dog between his tall ears and walked them both to the couch. Rhubarb repositioned himself on Ezra's lap and laid flat, staring up at his owner yearningly.

"Yeah, yeah," Ezra stroked his furry belly. "I know the drill." Rhubarb's tongue drooped lazily from his grinning mouth. Ezra couldn't help but smile - the little guy always put him in a good mood, no matter how crappy and long his days were. He decided, for Rhubarb's sake, that he wouldn't let himself sulk over his temporary unemployment, or his lost chance with Henrik.

No. Ezra would persevere. He was resilient, after all. He'd just paid this month's rent and had enough saved up for March. Plus, Rhubarb was in good health. Those were good things, things he could concentrate on to motivate him toward whatever the next step of his career would be.

The thought reminded him of his drawings, which sat in a leather sketchbook on his coffee table. He glanced at them, thinking of the free time he'd have to pursue his artistic hobby. Refine his figures, work a little on depth and distance, upload them to his little used tumblr...

 _Is that gonna pay your bills, though?_ The little voice in his head made him frown.

The phone tucked in his back pocket buzzed. Rhubarb perked up and watched his owner retrieve it. On his way home, Ezra texted his mom and sister the bad news - it was probably one of them returning his call. His frowned deepened upon seeing an unrecognizable number on the screen.

Ezra swiped to unlock the call. "Hello?"

"Ezra." A deep, frank, familiar voice answered.

Rhubarb jumped off Ezra's lap as the confused young man stood from the sofa, rigid and flustered and red.

"Henrik? How...?"

* * *

Fresh from his relaxing shower, Henrik wrapped a towel around his waist and sat on the dressing room's bench. Water dripped down his hairy, heaving pecs as he activated Blackberry Assistant.

"Get me the number of PopViral's Toronto office. Er, please."

A few moments later, Henrik made the call. He didn't have much of a plan, he just needed to hear Ezra's voice again, to remind himself that this handsome young man who captivated him so utterly still existed.

He spoke with the woman who answered - Henrik guessed the receptionist - and she responded with obvious discomfort.

"I, um, you see- Ezra actually no longer works here."

Henrik's spine snapped straight. "No longer works there? I helped him to get to work this morning. This is PopViral, isn't it?"

The receptionist's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I remember you. Tall, beard? Listen, Ezra was laid off just an hour ago."

 _Shit_. He remembered how thrilled Ezra was, how excited and anxious he'd been to receive what he thought was his one-year promotion. Anger briefly clouded Henrik's thoughts - _What kind of company would string him along and mislead him like that?_ \- but it was useless to get mad when the receptionist had nothing to do with it.

"Is he okay? Where is he?"

"He cleared out his desk, he's gone already. I think he could use some cheering up, you know," her voice lilted knowingly. "You should give him a call."

Henrik ran a hand across the bare, wet skin of his neck. "I don't have Ezra's number." He heard a ruffle of papers on the other line.

"I don't think he'd be all that bothered if I slipped it your way..."

Henrik bit the corner of his lip. "What if he gets upset?"

"He didn't seem all that upset when he was around you this morning, if you don't mind me saying..."

Warmth bloomed somewhere beneath Henrik's abs. He knew she was right.

After accepting Ezra's number, Henrik toweled dry and slipped on a clean pair of sweats. He gave his face a once-over in the mirror, scrutinizing the lines of worry that had developed around his eyes. He raked his fingers through his beard, which looked fuller and darker in the dressing room light.

_Stop distracting yourself. Man the hell up._

At 6-foot-5 and just about 230 pounds, Henrik was a big, sturdy man. Yet here he was, frozen at the thought of calling someone who he could easily lift over his head with one arm. The absurd image made him snort.

Summoning up his courage, Henrik dialed the number. Eyeballing his reflection again, he started to consider a quick shave when his call connected.

"Hello?" Ezra said. His young, melodic voice was music to Henrik's ears.

"Ezra. This is..."

"Henrik. How...? I mean, hi. I- Rhubarb! Stop!" Something made a noise on the other end of the phone. It sounded like a dog barking. "Sorry. Hyper roommate."

Henrik pushed off the dressing room sink and began a nervous walk around the room. "I apologize if this is inappropriate. The receptionist, she gave me your cell phone number. She... told me what happened."

A silence swelled. He heard Ezra breathe deep and long. "Yeah," the younger man answered. "It took me by surprise. To say the least."

"I'm very sorry," Henrik offered. He felt useless over the phone and wished he was right at Ezra's side to comfort him.

"Thanks," Ezra said in a small but brave voice. "Still in a bit of shock, I guess. But you don't have to apologize for calling. I'm glad you did."

"Would you like to go to lunch with me?" Henrik pushed out in one breath. The ease of asking the question surprised him, even if it escaped in such an abrupt way.

"Sure," Ezra replied quickly, if a little taken aback. "That sounds great. Did you want to meet somewhere, or-?"

"I'll pick you up. Our management hires private cars for us when we're away from Portland. We can decide on a place from there."

"Ah, well then." Ezra sounded impressed. "No one's ever sent a private car for me before."

 _You should start getting used to it_ , Henrik wanted to say, even if it was a promise he couldn't keep. After jotting down Ezra's address and promising to meet him in an hour, Henrik tossed his phone into his gym bag and breathed with a renewed vigor and confidence. Almost like he was...

... _invincible_. The word hung in his mind and he decided he liked it.

Henrik grabbed his bag and then caught a glimpse of his current outfit: long grey sweatpants, muddy sneakers, and a ratty Portland Knights sweatshirt. He wasn't quite lunch date material yet.

 _You might want to get your invincible ass to your hotel room and change first_ , _Viking_...

* * *

After getting the 'I'm here' text from Henrik, Ezra gave himself one last look in his bedroom mirror. He was thankful for the allotted hour - showering, choosing an outfit and grooming his wild, wavy hair certainly needed the time. The outfit selection took up most of the hour. Ezra needed something that would be casual enough for hot dogs at the park _and_ presentable enough for a sit-down meal, what ever they ended up doing. He decided on a simple, long-sleeve cotton shirt and nice slacks ( _nice_ because of how well they hugged his butt, a feature he wasn't ashamed to say he was proud of).

"Love you, boy," Ezra kissed the top of Rhubarb's bewildered face before locking the door and running - actually _running_ \- down the hall, down the quick flight of stairs, and out of the condo building entrance. He was thankful for the welcome distraction that their lunch represented. Without it, he imagined spending the rest of the day in a haze fueled by many cartons of Ben and Jerry's.

Ezra stepped outside into the chilly February afternoon air when a mammoth, charcoal-colored Cadillac SUV stopped in front of him. A man stepped out that made Ezra steel himself. He took in the sight of Henrik Ford looking big and handsome and powerful in the most beautifully tailored blue suit he'd ever seen. The athlete's silk tie was a deep royal purple that highlighted his sapphire eyes.

"Jesus," Ezra exclaimed. "You clean up nice."

"It's very nice to see you again," Henrik said with that voice that made Ezra stand a little taller.

"You too. Really." Ezra's heart was going a mile a minute. "I thought maybe I'd seen the last of you."

"Oh, you can't get rid of _The Viking_ that easily," Henrik teased.

"Count me as being thankful, then."

Henrik motioned to the Cadillac. "Shall we? Ned is ready to take us wherever you want to go."

Ezra couldn't believe he was getting a second chance with someone like Henrik, especially on a day like this. It was surreal, a queer fairytale. "I'm ready if you are."

Henrik reached out to cup Ezra's elbow, an old-fashioned gesture that took him by surprise. They entered the backseat and Henrik nodded toward their driver Ned, an older man wearing a chauffeur hat, the kind that Ezra had only seen in movies.

"Ned, this is my companion for the afternoon."

"Hi," Ezra said, feeling utterly self-conscious as he struggled to buckle his seatbelt.

"Where would you like to go today, sir?" Ned asked.

It took Ezra a moment to realize the sir in question was him. "Me? Oh!" He locked eyes with his taller companion. "Can you please take me and Romeo here to Bricco Wine Bar? It's right in the Junction, at Dundas and High Park."

Their driver nodded and pulled into the lane.

"The Junction?" Henrik's dark eyebrows rose. "Not that I know much about Toronto neighborhoods but I'm surprised we aren't going to Church Street."

Ezra laughed. "Oh, god no. If I take you to Church Street I'd never see you again. The boys there would maul you. And I'd prefer you alive and unmauled."

Henrik smiled, big and winning, then his expression turned thoughtful. "I'm glad we're getting the chance to do this. I didn't... like how we left things this morning. Which was my fault. _Entirely_ my fault."

Ezra shifted in his seat. He wasn't prepared for them to broach the subject so quickly. "You don't have to-" The word stopped in his throat as Henrik reached over and took his hand. The suddenness of it stole Ezra's breath.

"Let me just say this," Henrik said gently. "I don't want you to feel obligated to do anything you don't want to. This is a no-pressure lunch. I'd just be happy to get to know you for a couple of hours."

Ezra scanned Henrik's face, recognizing seriousness and warmth. "Glad to hear you say that. Sounds good to me."

Although they both looked off to their separate windows, neither of them dared to release their hands from each other.

 _We've got some lost time to make up for, after all_.

Ezra wanted to make this chance count. 


	3. Breaking the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henrik and Ezra enjoy their first date together - but certain temptations lead them toward an unpredictable (and minorly destructive) ending.

Ezra and Henrik had their choice of tables at Bricco. It was right after the lunch rush and the romantic, dark bricked restaurant was otherwise empty. They chose a semi-private booth that their waitress immediately rushed to with an ice bucket of champagne.  
  
"Oh, we haven't actually ordered anything yet," Ezra said as the waitress poured two glasses for them.  
  
She flitted her anxious eyes toward Henrik. "Our owner saw you guys coming in. He's a huge Knights fan, so it's on the house. I'll be right back with your menus."  
  
Henrik watched her rush away, confusion knitting his brows together. "After beating the Leafs last night, I thought I'd be public enemy number one." He took off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing muscular, hairy forearms. Ezra resisted the urge to run his hands along one of them.  
  
"That's Toronto for you. We love our teams here, but we're kinda used to seeing them lose," Ezra shrugged.  
  
"And here I thought you didn't know much about sports."  
  
"I know enough," Ezra shot back with a grin. "I'm savvy."  
  
Their waitress returned with their menus and disappeared again without saying a word. She was probably nervous, if Ezra had to guess, and wanted to give them their privacy. He wasn't about to complain.  
  
Henrik watched her go. "Sorry about that. I haven't been on a date in a while, sometimes I forget that people know who I am. Some are a little cooler under pressure than others."  
  
"Aha, this is a date!"  
  
A bit of red appeared around Henrik's beard. "So you've discovered my evil plan."  
  
"I'm okay with this being a date, evil or not. It'll help me take my mind off things."  
  
Henrik paused at this. "Yeah, about that. I just wanted to say how sorry I am. About your job."  
  
A flicker of anguish made Ezra's eyes drop to the table. "Well, I am too. But we don't need to talk about that."  
  
"Of course," Henrik said quickly. "We can talk about anything you like."  
  
Ezra's lips curled into a delicate smile. "Then let's talk about you."  
  
  
After giving their orders to the waitress, Henrik ran through his abbreviated personal history: he'd grown up in Helsingborg, Sweden, briefly served in the Swedish Army, and at 20 he got his start playing for the NHL after being scouted at a hockey tournament in Finland.  
  
"Have you always wanted to play hockey professionally? Like, since you were a kid?" Ezra sipped from his champagne flute, just enough to taste the tangy bubbles. Being a notorious lightweight, he played it carefully - even one small glass was enough to get him smashed.  
  
"Yes, I think so." Henrik played with the napkin on his lap. Talking about himself made him somewhat nervous. "Though my parents could tell you about that whole summer I pretended to be Superman."  
  
Ezra laughed as their waitress brought their food and once again vanished without speaking. He could have sworn he saw a fluttery, I-can't-believe-I-get-to-see-thisexpression on her face before she disappeared into the kitchen.  
  
They toasted their champagne glasses and started on lunch.  
  
"You're a big superhero fan, I take it?" Ezra cut into his steak.  
  
"Oh, I was a mega fan," Henrik said between bites of his lemon grilled chicken. "I had cousins in Philadelphia, they sent these big boxes of comics every month. I couldn't get enough of them. I actually convinced myself I had a kryptonite allergy."  
  
The confession had a hushed, soothing effect on Henrik. Ezra warmed at the way his hard features softened with nostalgia.  
  
"It's not very cool or edgy to like Superman now," Henrik continued. "But I really used to see a lot of myself in him."  
  
"Used to?" Ezra paused mid-chew.  
  
"I'm good at what I do and I enjoy it, but I'm not a hero. Not even close. When you're a kid, it's easier to believe in something as pure as a man in a cape doing good. Not so much anymore."  
  
Ezra didn't quite know how to take Henrik's words. He liked that such a big star athlete didn't have an inflated ego but surely he could give himself more credit than that. Shrugging, Ezra decided to keep it light. "You know, if Clark Kent ditched the glasses and stopped shaving, he'd pretty much be you."  
  
Henrik considered this, pleased. "You think so?"  
  
"Oh, definitely. And saving someone from a coffee shop line-cutter is definitely something Superman would do if he had the day off."  
  
Henrik looked at him the way a hungry man would have looked at either of their lunches. His smoldering blue eyes begged Ezra to recall their encounter in the elevator, when Ezra was caught between a wall and the hockey captain's barely controlled desires. The fact that neither of them had mentioned the incident since only highlighted how overwhelming it had been.  
  
Something nudged against Ezra's shoe. Startled, he dropped his fork, only to realize it was the touch of another foot. Henrik's.  
  
"Everything okay?" Henrik asked, though from the low smirk on his scruffy face, he clearly knew the answer. The smooth leather of his dress shoe brushed against Ezra's blue Converse again, more purposefully this time.  
  
Ezra nodded, eyes wide, heart pounding, wishing he'd worn something fancier. Henrik took another bite of his chicken; he seemed content with letting their little game remain unspoken. Ezra took his lead and continued with his steak, if only to distract himself from his growing lust.  
  
"How's the steak?"  
  
"Great. Just... how I like it. Medium raw."

"You mean medium rare?"

"Right. Yes."  
  
Ezra watched Henrik take a drink of champagne and decided to raise the stakes. Slowly, he caressed his right foot along the impressive, muscular calf hiding beneath one of Henrik's pant legs. The athlete paused in the middle of his drink, like his brain had short-circuited and needed a second to calibrate.  
  
"So." Henrik leaned his leg into Ezra's secret caress, inviting him to continue. "We've spoken enough about me. Let's hear about you."  
  
Ezra gently sucked in his lower lip as his foot continued to explore Henrik's leg. "What would you like to know?"  
  
"Did you... grow up in Toronto?" Henrik sat a little straighter as Ezra's shoe reached his knee then gracefully dropped back to his ankle.  
  
"Yeah, sort of. Spent most of my childhood in Scarborough, which is east of the city..." Ezra drew his foot along Henrik's calf again, this time riding up the man's pant leg and revealing a flash of skin. Ezra's own pants tightened at this. Their game of footsy made him hard - achingly so.  
  
"What do you like to do for fun?"  
  
"I..." Ezra had to pause for air. "I like to draw. I've been trying to get better at it. I bake, too... cookies, cakes... anything."  
  
"Really?" Henrik liked the way Ezra's foot danced along his leg. "Shame I can't try any of your desserts."  
  
"Excuse me. I hate to interrupt..." Both Ezra and Henrik snapped toward a man who approached them, a balding little fellow in his fifties. He appeared totally unaware of what their table surface was hiding. "I'm the owner of Bricco and I just wanted to say it's an honor that The Viking is dining here today. I'm a huge fan."  
  
"Oh, it's my pleasure," Henrik shook the owner's hand but pointedly did not rise or break his shrouded contact with Ezra. "I'd be happy to sign something for you after our meal."  
  
"Funny you should offer!" The owner revealed a pile of Henrik's official NHL head shots from behind his back. He placed the photos and a black sharpie beside Henrik's plate. "If it's not too much trouble, sir."  
  
 "None at all. And please, call me Hank."  
  
Henrik picked up the sharpie and Ezra began to withdraw his foot. He didn't want to distract Henrik from a task that needed his focus. But the hockey captain reached under the table, took Ezra's ankle, and set the younger man's foot on his knee. Henrik's fingers slid under the material of Ezra's pants and stroked the warm skin of his leg. Ezra arched his back but tried not to visibly react to the man's sensuous touch.  
  
The owner's eyes went from Henrik to Ezra, clearly sensing something, but unable to articulate what. "Is this your... little brother, Hank?"  
  
Henrik grinned without looking up. "My friend." He was signing through the stack with one hand at an incredible pace - clearly a veteran of these rapid-fire autograph sessions.  
  
"Well, any friend of The Viking is a friend of mine," the owner beamed at Ezra's cherry red face. "Your meal's on the house today, son."  
  
"Th-thank you." Ezra's voice caught slightly as Henrik's big hand slid a little further up his calf. Surrendering control to Henrik, however little an amount, drove Ezra crazy with desire. Desire that he desperately needed to reign in, unless he wanted to invite more unwanted attention. "Really, that's so nice of you."  
  
Oblivious, the owner turned his attention back to the captain. "Hank, what do you say to some tiramisu while you finish signing?"  
  
"That's alright," Henrik said. His concentration on the photos didn't stop his hand from moving an inch deeper into Ezra's pant leg. "I think I'll be having dessert later."

* * *

  
"Oh, man. Look at your driver."  
  
Ezra lightly tapped on the Cadillac window. Ned had reclined in the driver's seat, the chauffeur's hat tipped over his sleeping face. His mouth was wide open as it belted a car-shaking snore. "Looks like someone mixed their NyQuil with their DayQuil."  
  
Henrik just finished settling their bill (he still insisted on paying in full, plus a generous tip) and wasn't quite expecting to see his driver passed out on the job, a mere block away from the restaurant.  
  
"What do we do?" Ezra blinked. "We can't disturb him. Look how peaceful he is."  
  
Henrik slid his hands into his pockets. "Whenever a teammate falls asleep on the charter bus, we dump ice water on them."  
  
"That seems a little cruel."  
  
Henrik scrubbed a hand across his stubbly face and chuckled. "Hey, it's tradition. You wouldn't like what we do when someone falls asleep in the locker room, either."  
  
"Hold that thought," Ezra said as he started toward Bricco. "Bee-are-bee."  
  
"You're not getting ice water, are you? Make sure you ask for a full bucket."  
  
"Cruel!" Ezra called before disappearing back into the restaurant.  
  
Henrik leaned against the car and checked his phone, relishing the sensation of a lunch date gone well. Knowing that Ezra both enjoyed and reciprocated his advances made him feel much less guilty about their elevator ride that morning. Henrik only cut it short because he didn't know what he was doing - and the momentary loss of his faculties put him off from making another move. But now, their situation was much clearer. Ezra was down for the flirting and touching and Henrik was more than willing to oblige.  
  
Their time together so far had been new territory for Henrik, especially in how forward he'd been with the younger man. Yet Ezra made it... easier. Henrik wanted to be forward with him now. He wanted to touch, suggest, tease. Something about the graceful way Ezra smiled, how it lit up his beautiful face, how his green eyes became even greener when he blushed... it all turned Henrik stupid with lust.  
  
"Here we go." Ezra's voice made him look up from his phone. The younger man carried a small sytrofoam takeout box with a napkin and plastic fork. "I hope Ned likes tiramisu."  
  
"That's no way to wake up someone up," Henrik teased. "Unless you plan on mashing it onto his face."  
  
Ezra opened the Cadillac door, placed the takeout box on Ned's lap, and gingerly eased the door back shut. "It's not meant to wake him up, it's meant to greet him as a pleasant after-nap snack."  
  
"That's very thoughtful of you."  
  
"And yet I'm usually so wicked."  
  
"Ah, I don't believe that for a second." Henrik took a step and closed the space between them. Ezra wasn't short by any means - maybe 5'10, if Henrik had to guess - but standing right in front of him really exaggerated their size difference. It made him want to scoop up Ezra into his arms and carry him away somewhere.  
  
Somewhere that involves a bed, hopefully. Or a couch. Or table. I'm not picky.  
  
"Should we go for a walk, or something?" Ezra had to crane his neck to meet Henrik's eye level. "It's a shame the public rinks aren't open today. You could've shown me all those fancy hockey captain moves."  
  
"Yeah? You'd be interested in seeing that?"  
  
Ezra shrugged. "Sure. I mean, there's probably a reason they made your tall, Swedish ass the team captain, right?"  
  
"Ah!" Henrik mocked a hit to the stomach. "You really swung for the gut."  
  
Laughing, Ezra poked Henrik's rock hard abs. "And I'm so sure you felt it. I have a feeling you're a big show-off on the ice."  
  
Hmm. A light bulb went off in Henrik's head. The city rinks may be closed, but the private rink that management rented out today isn't...  
  
Henrik glanced at the nearest street sign. "How far away is Dufferin and Dundas?"  
  
"It's a walk that way," Ezra pointed a thumb behind them. "Why?"  
  
"You'll see." Henrik's grin grew devilish. He led the way with a confused but intrigued Ezra trailing after him.

* * *

  
The smell of fresh, cool ice greeted Ezra as he followed Henrik into the players box of McCormark Arena's hockey rink. It was in a nondescript brick building off Dufferin, nothing fancy, but very spacious. Aside from a clerk who greeted them at the front desk, the building was empty.  
  
"Wow. The Portland Knights have this whole place to themselves?"  
  
"Just for today," Henrik took a seat at the bench and pulled off his dress shoes. "But we only used it this morning for practice. The boys are off somewhere drinking the rest of the day away."  
  
Ezra leaned against the dividing perch and gazed onto the slick, even surface of the ice. "Seems weird that they'd be celebrating without their captain."  
  
"Well, I found a better way to spend my time," Henrik said as he eased into his skates.  
  
Ezra threw him a withering glance. "I didn't know you'd be such a sweet talker when I met you."  
  
"No?" Henrik fastened his laces together with quick, practiced hands. "What did you think of me when we met?"  
  
"Hmm, I don't know if my memory can go back that far," Ezra teased.  
  
Henrik stood and walked on his skates toward him as if they were nothing. God, why do I find that so hot? He was taller than ever in the new footwear, a fact that made a warm tingling spread through Ezra's body.  
  
"I'll tell you what I thought of you when we met," Henrik offered.  
  
"Uh oh. Should I be bracing myself for bad news?"  
  
"I thought you were very shy, and very sweet," the captain began, "And you had a smile that I immediately wanted to see more of."  
  
Ezra's pulse quickened. "Kinda strange to hear myself described like that."  
  
"Bad strange?"  
  
"Good strange," Ezra corrected. "And about when we met? I thought you were- I mean- you've seen yourself. You presumably own a mirror, you've glanced at reflective surfaces before. If somebody carved a lumberjack in marble, brought it to life, and put a hockey stick in his hand, that freakshow would be you."  
  
Henrik's big, booming laugh reverberated off the walls of the cavernous room. Ezra loved seeing his normally serious face brighten like that. He wanted to make it happen as often as possible.  
  
"I couldn't believe you were paying me any attention at all," Ezra continued. "You were just such a gentleman. I mean, a little scary, but still a gentleman."  
  
Henrik thought for a beat. "I'm not that scary after you get to know me, right?"  
  
"Well, I'm still getting to know you. But I'm not too scared of what I've seen so far."  
  
"Ah, hopefully you'll see me as completely harmless by the end of the day."  
  
Ezra's eyes darkened. The end of the day. The ticking clock counting down to the detonation of this 24 hour fantasy...  
  
The mirth disappeared from Henrik's face. "Did I say something wrong?"  
  
"No..."  
  
...except that you'll be leaving soon, to another country, to another coast, and I'll still be here, aching for a relationship that never started. Oh, and I'll be jobless! Still!  
  
Ezra looked at the ground and closed his eyes, shushing the negative thoughts away. He hated when he did this to himself but he couldn't always help it either.  
  
"Hey." Henrik's concern was growing. "Look at me."  
  
God, Ezra wanted him. Bad. The intense, gnawing attraction was almost enough to make him forget about their implied deadline. "I know you're gone by the end of the day. I just... don't want to think about it."  
  
He couldn't even broach the subject of the future. They might have had a good thing going now, but were they going to test their luck with weekend visits or more one-day drop-ins? No, Ezra didn't want that. It would only delay the inevitable, the ironclad thesis Ezra knew inside and out, frontwards and backwards: long distance relationshipsnever work out.  
  
He did a double take when Henrik put a comforting hand on his arm. It startled him, like being pulled out of a bad memory. Ezra started to regret how he darkened the mood with his own doubts.  
  
"If this is too much..." Henrik started gently. "I mean, I want to spend some time with you and I want us to be on the same page-"  
  
"I do too! If we're both on the same page, then no one gets hurt. Agreed?"  
  
Henrik nodded. "Agreed. So, whatever happens between us today..."  
  
"...it's just for today, and it won't mean anything." Ezra tried hard to make his words sound final. "And that's what the both of us want."  
  
"And now we're both on the same page."  
  
"Same page. Same word. Same letter, even."  
  
"Right."  
  
"Right."  
  
Ezra didn't know if he was satisfied with that and it didn't seem like Henrik was either, based on the downward look on the captain's face. But what else we can do? I don't want to pack up and go home now. Maybe it'll be easier if we both pretend, just for the moment, that this all means nothing...  
  
Henrik loosened his tie and stepped onto the ice. Ezra's mind was still swimming with uncertainty when Henrik noticed the Zamboni machine idling on the ice, way on the other end of the rink.  
  
"Huh. You know, I've always wanted to drive a Zamboni..." Henrik's voice lilted with mischief.  
  
"What does it do?"  
  
"It's an ice resurfacer. Keeps our playing field nice and smooth." That devilish grin returned. "Come on, I have an idea."  
  
"Wait- you're not serious. I'm not getting on the ice!" Ezra objected. "I don't have any skates and I happen to be the least coordinated person in the world."  
  
"I don't believe that."  
  
"I was almost impaled on a bed post once."  
  
"Ezra, come on! If I'm getting on that Zamboni, I'm not doing it alone."  
  
Ezra hemmed and hawed, but he secretly liked the idea - sharing a romantic Zamboni ride with a hockey captain. It was fitting, like a knight in shining armor on a white horse.  
  
"Well..." he relented. "Maybe just once around the rink. But I still need skates."  
  
Henrik shook his head. "No, you don't."  
  
"But I-"  
  
Henrik scooped the younger man into his arms, one hand around Ezra's back, his other forearm under the boy's knees. He’d literally swept Ezra off his feet, and the suddenness of it stole his breath.  
  
Ezra felt the captain's muscles beneath his dress shirt, enough to tell that they were barely straining under his weight. Henrik brought them onto the rink and pushed off with his skates, which easily navigated the ice's cool, unbroken surface. He skated with the confident ease of a professional and it calmed Ezra, made him feel safer.  
  
"This is easier, right?" Henrik smiled. His words escaped quietly, his mouth so tantalizingly close that Ezra felt the hot exhalation against the sensitive skin of his ear.  
  
Henrik's muscles flexed as they got closer. They stopped in front of the bulky machine, Henrik admiring its glossy red surface as he let his companion to his feet. Ezra braced himself against the vehicle's bulk. The ice beneath his Converse shoes was slick enough to make him nervous.  
  
"So where do I sit?" Ezra asked.  
  
Henrik climbed into the driver's seat, the only seat the vehicle had, and patted his knee. "Up here with me."  
  
Ezra colored at the suggestion. "Oh, come on."  
  
"Don't tell me you're afraid of breaking my lap," the captain chuckled. "I've carried grocery bags heavier than you."  
  
"You sure we won't get in trouble?"  
  
"I'm sure." Henrik extended a hand and helped Ezra climb up the step.  
  
"And it's safe? You know how to drive this thing?"  
  
Henrik eased Ezra onto his lap, one arm around the younger man's slender waist and the other on the Zamboni's wheel. Their faces were mere inches apart, their lips even closer.  
  
"You're safe with me," Henrik said in a low, serious voice. "I'll protect you."  
  
Ezra's warm body melted and he felt only butterflies. I'd like that. A lot...  
  
Henrik switched the ignition and brought the Zamboni to life. The sturdy machine hummed its mechanical song and lurched forward. Henrik steered the wheel with his free hand and directed them onto the center of the ice. It moved with the slow, lumbering pace of a sleeping animal.  
  
I can't believe I'm riding a Zamboni on a hockey captain's lap.  
  
Any apprehension that had trickled into Ezra's mind quickly evaporated when he saw Henrik's grizzled face leaning close to his own. And then...  
  
Their lips finally met. They melted into each other, their kiss soft and undemanding at first, a surprised moan catching in Ezra's throat as Henrik's scruffy mouth closed over his. Ezra parted his full, pouty lips and accepted Henrik's eager tongue, enjoying the hot, naughty sensation more than words could say. He moaned again, lower this time, more guttural. Henrik's arm pressed tighter around the younger man's waist, his other arm left the wheel and firmly stroked up and down and in between Ezra's taut thighs. The boy arched his back in pleasure, only barely aware that he was subtly grinding against the material of Henrik's pants, against the hockey captain's massive, straining erection.  
  
"Fuck," was the only word that escaped Henrik's panting mouth.  
  
They kissed again, and again and again, their tongues dancing against each other, Ezra already feeling his soft skin redden and raw with the rough scratches of the man's beard. He didn't care. He never wanted Henrik to stop kissing him, never wanted to leave the security of his lap.  
  
Ezra's hand traveled up Henrik's dress shirt, pulling at the man's tie and drawing them even further into each other. The hand between Ezra's thighs slid against the smoothness of his pants, moving ever closer to the source of the material's sudden tightness. Ezra could tell Henrik wanted more than this - more than a simple makeout session - and he wanted it too. Badly.  
  
Both men were so distracted with each other that neither had noticed that the Zamboni was driving straight into the path of a goaltender's net. With a fantastic, whining crunch of metal and plastic netting, the machine demolished the puny structure like a bulldozer nonchalantly plowing through a pile of leaves.  
  
Henrik and Ezra pulled off each other, panting, their lips wet and eyes wide with shock. Henrik hit the brakes and quickly switched off the ignition, but the damage was already done. It took the two of them several moments to register what had actually happened before they were able to speak again.  
  
"That was totally your fault," Ezra breathed.  
  
Henrik pinned him with a ferocious smile and consumed him in another hot, wet kiss. Ezra leaned back against the wheel and brought his arms around Henrik's neck, pulling the big, tall man into him, pressing their greedy, lusting bodies into each other as hard as he could.  
  
Just for the moment, neither of them cared about anything else.


	4. Interference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of their Zamboni crash, Henrik and Ezra decide how to spend the rest of their short afternoon together. But first, they must endure a couple of run-ins with a Portland Knights teammate and an unexpected family member.

Ezra couldn't even look at the ice arena clerk as Henrik tried in vain to explain the accident. There was some back and forth about insurance, contacting the Knights' management or owners, and money - lots of money - in amounts that Ezra knew he'd never have in his entire life. Henrik agreed to pay for the damage in full. Thankfully he didn't mention what led to his distraction and the Zamboni itself only had a few scuffs to show for their little escapade. The goaltender net, however, was a lost cause.

Ezra's guilt was so heavy that he couldn't lift his eyes off the ground until he and Henrik left the arena. "I'm not usually this expensive of a date," he said, forcing a mortified smile.

"It was my fault. I was driving," Henrik assured him. "And I don't mind, I've offered to make a donation to the arena in addition to the damage fees. I think they could use an outdoor rink and maybe some recreational programs in the winter. You know, for kids."

Ezra might have been all thumbs when it came to sports but he was aware of how obscene a professional athlete's salary was. Their whole afternoon's worth of activities probably wasn't even a dent in Henrik's wallet. "That's really sweet of you," Ezra finally said, feeling a tiny bit lame.

Henrik nodded and looked skyward, squinting at the sun in the clear winter sky. It was unusually warm for a February day. "Would you like me to escort you back home?"

Ezra's heart sunk. "Oh, uh- are we- is this... done?"

Henrik started down the steps of the arena entrance, bashful. "I didn't want to take up too much of your time, in case you were getting tired of me."

Bewildered but amused, Ezra laughed. "Did I seem tired when we were on that Zamboni?"

A knowing smile creased Henrik's face. "Not to my recollection..."

Ezra reached the last step and took the hockey captain's hand. Their skin warmed against each other. "If I wanted our date to end, I'd tell you. I promise. But I'm not ready for that yet."

Henrik's hand squeezed over his. "Neither am I."

"Good." Ezra enjoyed the kind, silent moment between them, understanding that they wouldn't be allowed many more soon.

* * *

"Hey, what about this store?"

Ezra and Henrik had been walking down Queen Street for a good fifteen minutes with no real concrete plan - just talking and enjoying the weather. Ezra mentioned in passing that he'd moved into his current apartment two months ago, which in Henrik's opinion was still early enough to earn a housewarming present. Ezra didn't think the man was being serious until they stopped in front of a novelty gift shop.

"What about this store?" Ezra blinked. A row of hipster-Canadiana trinkets were on display behind the glass: t-shirts of stylized lumberjacks, coffee mugs featuring sunglass-clad moose, beanies and toques, vintage Toronto maps.

"Anything catch your eye?" Henrik leaned in and squinted at the array of gifts. "I think every new apartment needs a thermos covered in cartoon Mountie figures."

Ezra laughed and playfully shoved Henrik in the side, not all that surprised that the big lug didn't even budge.

"Come on, I'm serious," Henrik said. "I want to get you something for your new place."

"It's a nice thought," Ezra sighed. "But I don't know if it'll even be my place that much longer." Henrik began to reply but Ezra stopped him. "Which is okay. I mean, if this continues through March and April and I have to move back in with my mom, it won't be that big of a deal. A blow to my independence and sanity, maybe..."

Henrik thought for a moment. "How much does this place cost?"

Ezra's fingers danced against the shop window. "Without a job, pretty much any place is out of my range. Really, you don't need to get me a housewarming present. It'd just be a waste."

Henrik didn't seem dismayed. He pushed open the shop door and motioned for Ezra to step inside. "Let me be the one to do the wasting, then."

"Ha. Who says romance is dead?" Ezra stepped into the store and was surprised to find the shop's eclectic offerings also included an array of flowers and plants. Henrik followed him in and marveled at the selection.

"You know," Ezra's voice had a hint of conspiracy, "This gift-giving scheme is an awfully sneaky way for you to come and see my place for yourself."

Henrik affected mock-surprise. "Oh? I never even considered that.."

Ezra drew closer, his hand creeping up the lapel of Henrik's suit jacket. "But you're more than welcome, if you have the time to spare."

"I definitely do." The way Henrik growled out the words made the soft hairs on Ezra's arms stick straight up. "Hope that's not too pushy of me."

"I don't mind pushy... for today, at least," Ezra said.

"Then I'm all yours. Until the press conference, I should say."

"Press conference?"

"Me and the other guys blew off the press after last night's game to go celebrate, so management set up another conference tonight. Answer questions about our technique, settle trade rumors, give our usual post-game comments, that type of thing. I know it sounds like a drag but it's part of the profession."

Ezra tried not to frown. "And attendance is mandatory?"

"For the team captain, unfortunately. It's at 8 sharp."

Ezra glanced at his phone and saw it was nearly 3 pm. Five more hours. Bummer, he thought glumly. But hey, you're not allowed to be disappointed. No unrealistic expectations means no huge disappointments.

His phone buzzed before he had a chance to slip it back into his pocket. "That's probably my sister." Ezra had been playing phone tag with her all day, the two of them missing each other's calls by mere seconds. She was only a year older than him and they talked to each other about everything. The fact that they hadn't connected yet over his newly forced retirement was odd.

"Spoke too soon," Ezra said, deflated. His phone didn't display a text message, but a Twitter notification. "Ah, shit."

"What's wrong?" Henrik said from somewhere in the shop.

"It's a Twitter notification but it's from my work account. Former work account, I mean."

"PopViral?"

"Yeah, I was in charge of the Entertainment handle. They haven't changed passwords yet. That's pretty damn dangerous of them."

"How so?"

Ezra shrugged and scanned the account's recent tweets. They were all written by him. "PopViralEnt has over 75 thousand followers and a disgruntled ex-employee still has keys to the castle."

"So you could, uh, Rickroll them? You know, out of revenge?"

Ezra suppressed a chuckle. Somehow it made perfect sense that Henrik's frame of reference for memes was a little outdated. "And while I'm back in 2007, I'll just warn everyone about the impending global financial crisis."

"I think it might actually be too late by then."

Ezra looked up but couldn't see the man anywhere. "Marco?"

"Polo."

Ezra spun around to find Henrik peeking through the lush leaves of a potted houseplant. The sight of the towering hockey captain attempting to camouflage himself was odd enough to make Ezra laugh. "I hate to say it, but you're too tall to be stealthy."

Henrik lifted the plant from its base and cradled the pot in his arms. "What do you think of this for your place? A housewarming plant is a symbol of good fortune."

"Yeah?" Ezra smiled. "I could use a bit of good fortune. But I still feel like it's too late to call it a housewarming."

"Please," Henrik carried the plant to the cashier desk. "In Sweden, you don't normally buy gifts for new homeowners until long after they're moved in and settled. I've been living in Portland for five years and my parents only just sent a card last week."

That made Ezra laugh again. He ignored the insistent buzzing of his phone, figuring it was just the PopViral Twitter account again. _Eh, it's not my problem. Let them figure out they haven't changed the password_. Who gave a shit? He wasn't responsible for it anymore.

Henrik finished paying for the plant and carried it out of the shop with Ezra at his side.

* * *

"Toronto actually reminds me a lot of Brooklyn," Henrik said as they made their way through the crowded streets of Chinatown. He was quite a sight, this colossal man in a sharp blue suit supporting a potted plant in one arm like a sleeping child.

"I know, right? I say that to everyone," Ezra exclaimed. "I visited Brooklyn last summer and it's all I could think about. It was like an alternate universe - a Toronto where everyone has asymmetrical haircuts and fixed gear bikes."

Henrik chuckled. "Do you travel a lot?"

"Oh, god no. Never had the money for it. When I have a day off I usually just sleep for 14 hours."

"Do you want to travel?" Henrik's tone aimed for casual but Ezra heard hints of a hopeful suggestion.

"Well, sure. But want and can are two very separate things for me right now."

They stopped at a Chinese pastry stand and picked up a bag full of sweet buns: taro, red bean, pineapple, sesame. Ezra insisted on paying. Two bucks was the least he could do, considering how much had already been spent on him.

"Try the taro," Ezra said with his mouthful. They weren't even a few steps away from the pastry stand and he'd already destroyed an entire bun. "It's sweet, but a little nutty and starchy, too."

"It looks delicious, but my trainer would kill me." Henrik patted his stomach, which Ezra could tell was flat and defined, even through his suit jacket. He wanted to make a crack about Henrik being so precious about his brawny figure when a man's voice interrupted them.

"Hank! _Bonjour!_ "

Ezra thought it was a hockey fan at first - _a French hockey fan?_ \- but quickly realized the two men knew each other.

"Xavier," Henrik said, clearly baffled. The man, Xavier, ran to catch up with them and slapped the hockey captain clean across his back.

_They've got to be teammates_. That much was apparent in Xavier's casual Portland Knights branded sweatshirt, and the fact that Xavier was just as giant as Henrik, albeit leaner and lankier. Both men were gorgeous, but Xavier looked more like a classic male model - with dark, striking good looks. Even the frenchman's somewhat ridiculous mustache suited his face.

Henrik cocked an eyebrow. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Such a warm greeting for your favorite defenceman, _non_?" Xavier grinned and slung a brotherly arm around Henrik's massive shoulders. He seemed a little tipsy.

"Had a liquid lunch, Xav?"

" _Très intelligent_ ," Xavier replied. "The rest of the team is back at the hotel. I just needed a walkabout. Some fresh air."

"Can't get any fresher than downtown Toronto," Ezra piped up. "We're only second to Hong Kong in air quality."

Xavier's chocolate brown eyes flickered from his teammate to the younger man. It was a little hard to read his expression, but he seemed impressed. "Hank, you are being so rude. Why haven't I been introduced to your _beau compagnon_?"

"Right, of course." Henrik burned bright red like he was fending off an embarrassing relative at a wedding. "Ezra, this is Xavier Brunner. Greatest defenceman on the Knights and yet also the worst karaoke singer."

"And best friend to your lumberjack ass!" Xavier drove a knuckle into one of Henrik's ribs which made the captain slap his hand away. "Ezra, how do you and the Swedish Paul Bunyan here know each other?"

It didn't occur to Ezra until then how odd the two of them must have looked together. He opted for the honest answer. "Henrik saved me from a line cutter at a cafe. The rest is history."

"Line cutters. Truly the worst type of evil." Xavier beamed at his friend. "Awww. You're such a man of chivalry, Hank."

Henrik spoke through gritted teeth, not at all concerned with hiding his impatience. "You ought to try it sometime, Xav."

Before the defenceman could slur a witty comeback, his cell rang. Xavier squinted at the display before answering it. " _Bonjour_? Ah, yes- Taggert- yes, Hank's right here with me-"

Henrik's face turned to stone. "Shit. What does he want?" He noticed Ezra's confusion. "Taggert's our coach. My phone's been off all day. He's probably been asking around for me, wants to go over what we'll say to the press tonight."

Xavier handed him the cell phone. " _Boudine_ , Hank. Not only can your beard safely house a family of birds, but you're psychic, too."

Henrik took the phone and excused himself. Xavier watched him duck under the hood of a nearby fruit stand and then turned back to Ezra with a low, raspy whisper.

"So you're who Hank's been swooning over all morning, eh?"

Ezra's eyes widened. "I'm what?"

"Oh, shit." Xavier immediately recognized his error. "I don't think I should be talking to you. Hank doesn't really like his two worlds colliding. Not since Patrick, anyway. Now _that_ was a mistake."

"Who's Patrick?"

"Oh, shit," Xavier repeated, his panic deeper.

"I'm not supposed to talk about Hank's last boyfriend. I mean, his only boyfriend. I mean-"

"Wait, what?"

Xavier cringed. "This is why Hank doesn't like when I talk. _Je suis ivre. Vraiment désolé_." He reached an arm around Ezra and grabbed him in a clumsy half-embrace. "I have to give that big oaf some credit. _Tu as de très beaux yeux_." Xavier leaned closer to admire his confused eyes. "They are so very green."

Ezra squirmed under the frenchman's drunk scrutiny. "You know that Henrik and I aren't actually dating, right? We're just hanging out."

Xavier chuckled in a there's-more-to-this-than-you're-saying kind of way.

There really wasn't more to him and the hockey captain than that. Ezra was being honest. Right?

_Right._

"Xavier, can I ask you something?" Ezra kept one eye on Henrik as he spoke. "You're in the NHL, you're traveling all the time. What's dating like for you?"

Xavier, a little taken aback by the question, took a long pause. "I am quite flattered, my boy, but I'm not really looking right now. If I ever decide to experiment-"

"Oh, jeez," Ezra groaned as he pushed the defenceman off him. "I'm asking in a general sense. Do hockey players have relationships? Or do you guys just keep it casual?"

Xavier's lips curled. "Hockey players date, _oui_. Hank, though? The man may as well be a monk."

Ezra's gaze on Henrik lingered. "I know he hasn't been out of the closet that long, but a monk? Really? Guys must throw themselves at him all the time."

"Hank is the greatest man I know, and I know him very well. He's private but he's verrrrry easy to read. If he so much as makes eye contact with a _joli garcon_ , it's on his face like a magazine headline. Trust me, before this morning I hadn't seen that look on him in years."

"This morning?"

" _Oui_. After he told me about... you."

Ezra's heart jumped. A warmth, a longing, a shivering thrill of something he'd never felt before started to blossom. It was new and a little scary - and definitely not the kind of feelings other men inspired in him. He did his best to fight through it, clearing his throat before he responded to Xavier.

"So, you're saying that Henrik isn't really a one-night-stand kind of guy?"

"Hmm. Not in my opinion. But that doesn't mean Hank isn't capable of trying something new." Xavier noticed Ezra's sudden apprehension. "Is this a bad thing?"

"No..." Ezra started. "I mean, I don't know yet. I'm not entirely sure what I want either. I thought I did. I even asked Henrik and we both said we were on the same page. But I'm starting to..."

One of Ezra's many bad social habits was diarrhea of the mouth. He'd just been way more honest with a relative stranger than he was comfortable with. And the man was Henrik's best friend to boot.

Xavier's dark eyebrows raised to his forehead. "Starting to...?"

"Starting to what?" a deep voice asked.

Xavier and Ezra turned in unison as Henrik walked up to them. He tossed Xavier his cell phone and readjusted the potted plant in his arms.

"I hope Taggert left you with a little dignity intact," Xavier said, distracting him from Ezra's last words.

Henrik only shrugged. "I told Taggert that if he wanted to tell me exactly what to say to the press tonight he should just fax me a goddamn script. Then he told me to go back to my day job as a member of ABBA."

Xavier snorted. "He's in a good mood. He's only called me a soap dodger once today." His dark eyes shot back to Ezra. "Speaking of which, I'm due for a shower. I should head back to the hotel. Hank - you ready for tonight?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Henrik said evenly. His eyes narrowed a little, sensing the tension in the air, but unable to articulate it. "We'll meet up before the conference, alright?"

" _Oui_."

Xavier bid them farewell with kisses to both their faces and left. Ezra wondered, watching the frenchman leave, if he could ever summon the strength to be as honest with Henrik as he just was with the man's friend.

* * *

Henrik saw little flashes of recognition cross a few faces as he and Ezra made their way through Toronto, but they were brief and fleeting.

That was the strange but welcome thing about being a sports celebrity. Unlike actors or singers, many people don't immediately recognize you if you're only walking down the street. They usually needed a few long glances before they realized who they were seeing. Yet even then, many second-guessed their own ability to recognize him. He'd heard a thousand variations of You look just like... or I think I know you from somewhere...

Henrik wasn't about to complain.

The prospect of getting some alone time with Ezra at his apartment gave Henrik a little spring in his step. He let the younger man lead the way, partially because he enjoyed watching Ezra walk. He had to admit that openly devouring the sight of Ezra's high, tight buttocks flexing under his slim-fit pants wasn't exactly chivalrous. But surely there was no harm in looking, and he'd been conducting himself fairly well all day.

_Well, most of the day_. He warmly remembered their hot and heavy kissing on the Zamboni, how Ezra moaned into his mouth, the fresh scent of his shampoo, the way Ezra's thighs rubbed his lap...

"Almost there," Ezra said. "It's just that white building at the end of the block."

He couldn't help but notice that Ezra was fidgeting with his hands. In fact, he seemed markedly uncomfortable ever since their encounter with Xavier, a complete contrast to how free spirited and open Ezra had been with him for most of the day.

They entered the vestibule of the condo building and Ezra fussed with his keys to find the entry fob. Henrik placed a hand over his Ezra's and was surprised to find the younger man's skin was ice cold.

"Hey. Is everything alright with you?"

Ezra froze for a moment. He turned over his hands so Henrik's large fingers could easily slip over and warm up his skin.

Henrik's voice dropped to a low, concerned half-whisper. "If you don't want me to come inside, I won't."

"No," Ezra said, his eyes swimming with unease. "I want you to come in."

"Then what's wrong? Did Xavier say something? I know he can be a little-"

"It's not anything he said. I'm fine."

Henrik wasn't sure if he believed that but he didn't want to push the boy if he didn't feel like talking.

"Really." Ezra's smile was reserved as he brushed a few fingers across Henrik's beard. "Let's just enjoy the time we have left, okay?"

"Okay. Sounds fair to me." Henrik hated the nagging suspicion that they were avoiding an honest (if difficult) conversation, but Ezra was right in a way. Why darken the mood of the few hours they had left with each other? Maybe it was better that they leave certain things off the table.

_Even if it's obvious what those certain things are_ , a voice in Henrik's mind nipped. _He's getting attached, Viking. And that doesn't seem like something he wants..._

His palms moistened against the plant's ceramic holder. Ezra unlocked the vestibule door and led them both inside, neither of them saying what they were thinking.

* * *

Ezra only lived on the second floor so he opted for the stairs instead of the elevator, with Henrik dutifully following. His keys stabbed the flesh of his hand as he closed a nervous fist over them. His heart pounded against his chest as they moved toward his apartment door.

His fleeting conversation with Xavier may have frayed his nerves but Ezra couldn't exactly blame the man. Henrik's teammate didn't exactly say anything that Ezra wouldn't have been able to find out on his own (though he did think Xavier could use a little work on keeping his best friend's secrets hush-hush). Still, the fact that Henrik hadn't taken a lover since the mysterious, briefly mentioned 'Patrick' seemed strange. Not that Ezra was judging - but it did put a certain amount of pressure on him.

Ezra unlocked the door and felt Henrik's warm, reassuring hand stroke the back of his neck. Ezra dropped his shoulders and let himself relax. _Mmmph_. How could another man's touch calm him this quickly?

"You're still fine?" Henrik asked. That voice. That deep, Swedish-accented baritone drove him crazy. If anything about their situation was uncomplicated and straight-forward, it was their intense, crushing attraction - as raw and real as anything Ezra had felt before.

He locked eyes with Henrik and gently tugged his silk tie, beckoning him to come closer. Reaching behind him, Ezra pushed his apartment door open and pulled the hockey captain inside. As soon as the door swung shut, Ezra kissed Henrik deeply, hungrily. The potted plant fell from Henrik's grasp and landed on the foyer floor, dashing soil across the doormat and over their shoes.

Neither of them cared.

Henrik slid one beefy arm around Ezra's waist so their bodies were in complete contact from the waist down. Ezra's senses flared in anticipation as their mouths closed together. The athlete's hands traveled from the small of Ezra's back down to his butt, cupping his cheeks lightly at first and then squeezing them as their hard bodies pressed together. Ezra surrendered completely to the shivery excitement of it, Henrik's scruffy mouth tickling his lips, those big hands kneading and massaging his ass.

Henrik pulled away to catch his breath. "This is some apartment you have here."

"Yeah, uh huh." Ezra was just as out of breath. "The foyer is... lovely, isn't it?"

"It's not the foyer I'm looking at." Henrik's hands squeezed over Ezra's butt again. Then with no effort at all he lifted the younger man off his feet until Ezra's legs wrapped around Henrik's waist. Ezra's breath caught in his throat.

"Is this okay?" He knew the answer as soon as Ezra kissed him again. Henrik opened his mouth and their tongues danced together, inciting deep, urgent moaning. Ezra's back hit a wall, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force to make Henrik's surfacing desires more than obvious. The hockey captain's strong body vibrated with need and Ezra twinged, feeling a mammoth bulge pressing against the seat of his pants. Not only was Henrik's cock long and thick, it was hard as a rock. The thought of pulling those pants off him and taking that warm girth in his hands made Ezra groan with yearning.

"I want to fuck you like this," Henrik whispered into his ear. Ezra's grip tightened over his bulging arms. He'd never heard a man talk to him like that and he liked it. A lot.

"I _want_ you to fuck me like this," Ezra whispered back. A challenge.

"God damn." Henrik's lips, wet with Ezra's saliva, rose into a dangerous smile. "Right here, against the wall?"

Ezra's voice dropped even lower. "Don't make me beg." He was barely able to finish the sentence before Henrik devoured him in a kiss, ravenous for his taste and touch and scent, Ezra lost in a flood of ecstasy, his whole body aching to be filled.

Henrik looked up suddenly and stared at something behind Ezra. "I thought you said you lived by yourself?"

"What?" Ezra crinkled his brow, his face flush and sweaty. "I do."

"Then I think a very pretty burglar broke into your home."

Ezra turned his head to find a beautiful woman - with long, golden brown hair and the trendiest, most fashion-forward clothes money could buy - nervously waving at them from the living room entrance. His sister, Violet.

Startled, Ezra unwrapped his legs from Henrik's body and smoothed out his wrinkled shirt. Not only had his sister never met anyone he'd dated before, she'd never even seen him hold hands with another man. This leap forward was a little too forward for him.

"Vi!" he cried, hoping his cheeks weren't as burning red as they felt. "What are you doing here?"

Violet tapped the screen of her phone. "I guess you didn't get my volley of texts. Just wanted to see how my little brother was handling his first few hours of unemployment." Her sparkling eyes went from her brother, to the tall man, and back again. She smiled wide. "I guess that answers that."

Rhubarb padded into the hall and sat at Violet's feet, wagging his tail. Guilt immediately hit Ezra. He'd forgotten all about his dog during his erotic rush with Henrik at the door. _Pet owner of the year, I am clearly not._

Henrik cleared his throat in an effort to move the conversation along. He seemed to do a better job of composing himself after the surprise - even though his hair was now a complete mess thanks to Ezra's hands. "I'm Henrik. Nice to meet you."

"Violet," she said. Her eyes crept floor-to-ceiling to take in the man's 6-foot-5 frame. "I'm Ezra's sister. It's really nice to meet you too."

Henrik offered his hand. Violet laughed, "Don't take this the wrong way, but I can't shake a hand that was just on my brother's ass."

" _Vi_!" Ezra wouldn't have objected to a meteor striking his apartment at that moment. The larger, the better.

Violet's eyes lit up mischievously. "What? It was just a joke."

"Can I talk to you, please?" Ezra grabbed her hand without waiting for her to answer and started toward the living room.

"Uh oh, you've got mom voice," Violet sighed.

"Henrik, would you excuse us for just a second?"

"Sure," Henrik shrugged. He poked at the spilled soil from the plant with his shoe. "Take your time. I'll get this cleaned up for you."

Rhubarb stared suspiciously at the stranger in the foyer.

"Hello...?" Henrik waved two fingers at the hesitant dog.

Rhubarb started to growl.

* * *

"Wow," Violet exhaled as Ezra pushed her into the living room. "Where'd you find him, Jack? Up the beanstalk?"

" _Hilarious_. I gave you a set of keys for emergencies only."

"My baby brother being fired for the first time qualifies as an emergency." Violet crossed her arms with a knowing smirk. "And can you blame me for not predicting the very unexpected scenario I walked into just now?"

"Why aren't you at work?" Ezra asked as he started cleaning up the room. It wasn't messy but he needed to do something with his hands to settle his nerves.

"I worked from home today. And you can't dance around the very handsome elephant in the room forever."

"You underestimate my stamina."

"Ez..."

He threw a stack of magazines onto his coffee table with an impatient sigh. "Look, no one's more surprised about this than I am. I met Henrik this morning and things kind of... what do you call it when something becomes an avalanche? 'It avalanched' doesn't sound right."

"It snowballed?"

"That sounds... less wrong."

"So who is this guy? What does he do? Is he nice?"

"Now who's got mom voice?"

"Handsome elephant: still in the room and not budging."

Ezra leaned into the hall to make sure Henrik wasn't listened. He heard rustling noises from the kitchen and a few low growls. "Rhubarb! Be nice!" He looked back at his sister. "He's a hockey player, alright?"

"Ding _dong_!" Violet raised her arms in victory. "Lord Jesus, I am delivered!"

"Shhhh!"

"Ez, a hockey player? You won the boyfriend lottery."

Ezra crossed the room and collapsed into his sofa. "He's not my boyfriend. Henrik lives in Portland, he's only in Toronto for the day."

Violet joined him. Sensing his concern, she ran her hand through his messy, golden brown hair. "And... you're not exactly happy with that arrangement, I take it."

"I don't know yet. This whole day has been moving at one hundred miles an hour and I haven't been able to stop and catch my breath." Ezra looked her in the eyes, the same sparkling emerald green as his. "I like him, Vi. I know he looks like he should be living in the woods but he's the sweetest person. He's interesting and easy to talk to. You remember what mom always said whenever The Princess Bride was on TV?"

Violet grinned at the memory. "She said Cary Elwes was her knight in shining armor."

Ezra smiled, too, but with an undercurrent of darkness. "That's what Henrik's been to me. I never thought anyone like him would even look at me twice."

Violet pulled her legs up onto the sofa and crossed them. "Have you guys talked about seeing each other again?" She watched her brother's face tighten. "I know, I know. You don't do the long distance thing. But couldn't you make an exception for... your knight in shining armor?"

"But if it doesn't work out, it'll just be one big waste of time and a lot of hurt feelings."

"That's dating, Ezra!" Violet playfully smacked the side of his head. "That's every relationship ever! Every couple runs that risk!"

"This is different!" Ezra objected. "He's got such a high stakes career, he hasn't been out of the closet that long. And what do I have to offer? I was just fired from a company that Drake is suing for libel. There's so many things that can go wrong here."

"But if you _want_ to be with him and you choose _not_ to, you have to ask yourself if you're willing to live with that regret."

Ezra weighed his sister words, understanding their importance. Eventually, he sighed. "I hate when you do that."

"Do what?"

"When you say something wise. It's unnatural, like those YouTube videos of animals saying 'I love you'."

Violet smacked the side of his head again, laughing. Ezra pushed back, "Hey! Stay away from the face!"

"Listen, I've got an idea." Violet picked up a gift basket beside the sofa that Ezra hadn't noticed - it was garishly girly, bursting with pink and red ribbons. "Derek overnighted this to me. He's still pretending we're not in a fight."

Violet's on-again off-again relationship with Derek - a bro-y guy who once told him that the movie _Inception_ was 'too confusing' - was always a bit of a sore spot for her.

She hefted the gift basket between her arms. "When I heard about your unemployment, I came right over with this bad boy to help make it your _fun_ employment. But now that you've got company... I'm thinking it'll have other uses too."

Ezra pinned her with a skeptical look as she dropped the basket into his arms. "Like what?"

"It's Valentine's Day-themed."

"Uh, why, exactly?"

Violet huffed. "Good god, Millenials are so out of touch these days."

"You're a year older than me, Vi."

"Valentine's Day is tomorrow, genius. And since you and Henrik won't be spending it together, maybe you two can enjoy the basket... today."

"Oh, fuck." Ezra completely forgot. He wasn't the type to bemoan being single on Valentine's Day, but he still would have preferred to remain ignorant. His eyes sifted through the basket's contents: heart-shaped chocolates, a bottle of champagne, a pink teddy bear, fuzzy handcuffs ( _Oh, god, why did my sister give me this?_ ), and a mysterious rectangular box in red wrapping paper.

Rhubarb's loud, sharp bark pierced the air. Ezra's head snapped toward the hallway. "Rhubarb? Stop!"

Henrik, flustered, poked his head into the living room "Very sorry to interrupt, but I think your dog hates me or wants me dead."

Ezra stood, concerned. "That's... weird. Rhubarb usually likes everyone."

"I think he's made an exception. He's, uh, cute though?"

Another angry bark from the hallway made him jump. Ezra had to admit - seeing Henrik shaken by a normally docile dog was pretty adorable.

"I have an idea," Violet said, her voice sneaky and suggestive. "Why don't I take Rhubarb for the day? I'd be happy go into Auntie Violet mode."

"Oh, really," Ezra said flatly. He was onto her.

"Sure! I still have all the treats and the food from the last time I dog-sat, remember? Plus I've got a yard." Violet located Rhubarb's leash on the coffee table and snatched it up before her brother could object.

"That's very nice of you," Henrik said. He was relieved but trying not to show it.

"I am very nice," Violet winked.

Ezra frowned. "Just... for the day, I guess. But if he's too much of a handful, call me."

"Who, Rhubarb? He's a sweetheart. And my Instagram 'likes' go through the roof when I snap selfies with him, so I'm getting something out of it too."

Still skeptical but nonetheless relenting, Ezra kissed her on the cheek goodbye. She demurely waved to Henrik, who waved back with a genuine smile. Moments later, they heard the front door close. Violet and an excited Rhubarb were gone.

Ezra drew in a nervous breath as he took in the living room. "I'm sorry that was so weird," he said. "My sister walking in on us is emphatically not the introduction I wanted you to have for my apartment."

"Come on, she was nice," Henrik said. "Looks a lot like you, too."

Ezra sat again and picked through the contents of the gift basket. "It's really just in the eyes. And the lips, I think."

"What do you have there?" Henrik took a seat and slipped a hand over one of Ezra's thighs.

Ezra allowed himself a moment to enjoy his touch before he answered. "Just a dumb re-gift from Violet's boyfriend. It's mostly candy and flowers."

Henrik kissed Ezra's shoulder and let his lips linger on the fabric. Mmm. Even through his shirt, Ezra could feel the man's stubbly beard - which he definitely didn't object to.

Henrik reached into the basket and pulled out the red-wrapped box. "What's this?"

Ezra shook his head. "No idea."

"Should we open it?" Henrik turned it over in his hands. There was something loose inside - it sounded like paper or pieces of plastic.

"I don't see why not..." Ezra had to admit he was curious.

"That's the spirit," Henrik smiled proudly. He tore through the wrapping paper to reveal what looked like a board game. "Uh. Wow." His piercing eyes scanned the silhouette of a naked couple, photoshopped crudely on the cover.

Ezra read the game title aloud. "Strip Truth or Dare. The Naughty Game for Naughtier Adults."

They stared at each other, hearts racing and minds buzzing, an identical flush of adventure appearing on both their faces.

_Did I remember to wear underwear today?_ Ezra swallowed a lump in his throat.


	5. Truth or Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth or dare? Henrik and Ezra dive into a naughty version of the classic party game and learn more about each other than either expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: This chapter is where My Last Day Without You earns its Mature/NC-17 rating. If reading graphic descriptions of certain intimate encounters between two men isn't your thing, then this is your last chance to exit through the gift shop.

Henrik read and re-read the rules. The setup of the game was simple enough. There was a pouch for pink chips with truth questions on them and a second pouch for blue chips containing dare commands. They'd take turns choosing until one or both of them got fully naked. After thoroughly familiarizing himself with the game, Henrik placed it onto coffee table and leaned back on the sofa, stretching out his long legs.

 _I can't believe we're about to do this_ , he thought with a surge of naughtiness. While Henrik's dating life had been pretty bare for the past two years, he was sure most normal first dates didn't contain an impromptu game of Strip Truth or Dare.

Ezra had excused himself a moment before to change clothes ( _Hopefully into much less_ ). He seemed adorably flustered and Henrik couldn't blame him. Their whole afternoon, really, had been especially surreal. He enjoyed meeting Violet and found her to be very nice but he wasn't all that sad to see her go, either. Especially now that they had a promising new way to pass the time.

"Okay, I'm ready." Ezra stepped back into the living room. Henrik frowned. He was wearing considerably _more_ clothes than before, including a baggy sweater and a old, faded baseball cap.

"I don't think you're really getting into the spirit of the game we're about to play."

Ezra sank into the sofa cushion beside him. "Dude, I'm just trying to even the playing field. Look how much you're wearing!" He pointed at Henrik's various articles of clothing as he listed them off. "Suit vest, dress shirt, pants, two socks. Assuming you're not going commando, those are six items."

"I'm not going commando," Henrik shook his head. He returned the favor and listed off Ezra's clothes. "Let's see. Sweater, jeans, two socks, hat, and... underwear?" Ezra nodded yes. Henrik sighed greatly. "Okay, I _guess_ that's fair. But I'm not happy about it."

"Duly noted," Ezra said. Henrik watched his handsome, boyish face brighten as he smiled. _How can he have all those clothes on and still look ridiculously sexy?_

Ezra skimmed through the rules, mouthing the words, oblivious to the fact that Henrik was undressing him with his eyes. "So there are rules for two players and separate rules for a group. I'm assuming we're going with two players."

Henrik ran his hand along the curve of Ezra's slender back. "Yep. Sounds good."

"Player 1 must choose either truth or dare. If player 1 chooses a truth, player 2 must select a truth chip for them from the pink pouch. Or for a dare, the blue pouch for a dare chip. Player 2 will then read aloud the question or command printed on the chip for player 1 to answer or perform." Ezra wrinkled his nose. "Does it really need to be called 'the pink pouch'?"

"Beats me," Henrik said, muffled, his mouth already busy on the back of the younger man's neck. Ezra shivered, backing into the pleasant touch for a moment.

"Come on!" Ezra playfully held him back. "Do you want to play this game or not?"

Henrik considered answering honestly for a moment. He was much more interested in tearing off Ezra's clothes, bending him over the sofa and fucking him hard and deep...

 _Hold your horses, Viking._ It was rare that his mind drifted into such raw territory - but then again, it was rare that Henrik wasn't on the ice or training in a gym. Spending his one day off in the presence of someone he actually wanted to touch and kiss and fuck had brought out an entirely new side to him. A side that Henrik quite liked.

Ezra continued, "If a player cannot answer a truth, answers a truth incorrectly, or refuses to perform a dare, they must remove a piece of clothing. The first player to lose all articles of clothing is the loser." He looked directly at Henrik, his expression fiery. "Think you can handle that?"

"You should see the NHL rule guide, it's thick as a phone book. I've got this in the bag."

"Oh, you say that now. Who goes first?"

"I will," Henrik offered. "I pick truth."

"Wuss," Ezra teased. He picked a chip from the truth pouch and read the printed text. "Describe the last porn movie you've gotten off to." His gaze met Henrik's. "Oh, man. I don't know why but it's weird to imagine you watching porn."

"What! Why?"

"I don't know! You just seem so, like, above that kind of thing."

Henrik raised a brow. "Well, prepare to be disappointed."

"Oh no! The invincible hockey captain is just as perverted as us mere mortals. It wasn't sports-themed, was it?"

Henrik laughed again. "Hell no. After spending months on end with a sweaty, dirty group of guys who look just like me-"

"You just described my dreams," Ezra interjected.

"-it's the last thing I'd want to see. The last porn I saw... huh. I don't remember what it was called or if it even had a title. These two guys were on a bed and this other guy off camera was kind of telling them what to do."

"Oh yeah?"

"Not in a scary or demanding way, or anything. More like he was making suggestions. One of them said he was straight, the other said he'd fooled around with a buddy of his but nothing serious. They were nervous at first, but got more comfortable. More eager, you know? It was kind of hot, but..."

"But what?"

"But they never kissed or anything. I know that sounds weird but I can't get off to a porn if the guys don't kiss. Otherwise it's too impersonal, too mechanical." Ezra said nothing for a moment. Henrik started to worry he'd revealed more about himself then he could handle. "What's wrong?"

Ezra mockingly waved the truth chip in front of his face. "You didn't answer the question, Viking! It said describe the last porn you 'got off to'. And you didn't get off to it."

"Come on!" Henrik raised his arms like he was objecting a match penalty. "I still answered!"

"You didn't answer _correctly_. And I think we both know what that means." Ezra's eyes fluttered suggestively.

Henrik covered his burning hot face and laughed. _Fine, fine. Take the loss, captain._ He had his inhibitions just like any good Swede, but they had faded steadily throughout the day. He was comfortable around Ezra, more than he'd ever been with anyone he'd known less than a day. Henrik removed one sock and threw it to the floor. "I'm gonna get you back for this."

"I'm so sure you will," Ezra replied with a saucy grin. He seemed to be enjoying himself - a little shy yet a little naughty, too. It was hot.

"Your turn, troublemaker. Truth or dare?"

Ezra reflected over the question for a moment. "I'm gonna match you wuss-for-wuss. Truth."

Henrik dipped into the truth pouch and read from a random chip. "What is your wildest sexual fantasy?"

Ezra drummed his fingers against his lap. "Hmm. I guess that would be two men at once. A threeway. I've never had one before."

Henrik liked how smoothly the answer came, relaxed and unfazed. "Been fantasizing about two of me, have you?"

It made Ezra laugh. "Come on, your turn."

"Wait, wait. I want to know more about this threeway fantasy. What position are you in?"

Ezra's composure slipped for a second. "The middle."

Henrik's cock thickened and he sat up straighter. "One guy behind you, one in front?"

" _Yes_ , Henrik. Can we keep playing? Truth or dare. Come on."

The image of Ezra on his hands and knees between two men drove Henrik unexpectedly wild. He shifted slightly as his erection grew against the wool material of his pants. The revelation had him feeling a little bolder. "I pick dare."

"Ooh, now it's getting interesting." Ezra gleefully opened the dare pouch and plucked out a chip. He barely got through the first few words before he burst into laughter. "Wow. Okay. Perform a sexy lap dance for your partner."

The color drained from Henrik's face. "You're kidding, it doesn't say that." Ezra let him see for himself. _Perform a sexy lap dance for your partner_ was indeed on the chip, plain as day.

Ezra reached the table for his Macbook. "Let's see, what's good lap dance music? There's got to be a Spotify playlist for this. Help me pick something, Magic Mike."

"Hold on, stop. I'll save you the time." Henrik took off his other sock. "That's not happening."

"But I wanted to see you and that Swedish butt pull off some moves!"

"I will gladly take the loss, both for my sake and yours. Truth or dare?"

Disappointed, Ezra sighed. "Dare."

Henrik chose another blue chip. Reading it, his eyes widened with both surprise and satisfaction. "If you're wearing pants, pull them down and let your partner spank you ten times."

It took a moment for the words to land. Ezra flopped his whole body onto the sofa cushions and howled with laughter. "You can't be serious!"

"I've never been more serious about anything in my life," Henrik said as he brushed the chip against his beard. "What do you say, sport?"

"Does it say how hard the spanks have to be?"

" _I'll_ be the one to decide that."

"You're not seriously making me do this."

"Oh, I'm not making you do anything. You've got the choice between a win or a loss, here. It's all up to you," Henrik challenged.

A long moment, followed by a sigh. Henrik's heart sped as Ezra crawled toward him. He laid stomach-down across Henrik's lap. "Happy now?"

"You've got to pull down those pants. Don't make me do it for you, boy."

Ezra arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "He's getting bossy now."

Henrik lightly ran a couple of fingers down Ezra's back, making the younger man tremor under his touch. "I hope that's okay."

"I don't want you thinking I unbutton my pants on the first date for just any guy..."

"Trust me, I feel very special right now." That was certainly no lie. The most beautiful man in Toronto was lying across his lap. It was impossible not to feel privileged.

With a knowing look, Ezra lifted his hips to unbuckle his jeans and slid them off his ass.

" _Helvete,_ " Henrik breathed. He didn't normally swear in Swedish except under extraordinary circumstances and the mouth-watering sight of Ezra's ass in tight red briefs most definitely qualified as one. He'd been admiring that butt all day and now he'd uncovered the treasure in nearly all its glory.

"The undies stay _on_ ," Ezra was quick to note.

Henrik's gaze roamed along the outline of his plump butt cheeks. "For now."

Ezra buried his face into the sofa cushion to muffle his giggling. "Oh god. Let's just get this over with."

Henrik gripped a handful of Ezra's left butt cheek, enjoying its fleshy roundness. He raised his hand and gave it a firm whack with the flat of his palm. Ezra's butt jiggled pleasantly in the aftershock, causing the young man to gasp.

"Jesus!"

"Too hard?" Henrik smirked. Ezra's locomotive heartbeat pounded against his lap, a sensation that made Henrik's mind whirl with delight. When Ezra shook his head, Henrik gave his ass another slap. Then another, then another, each whack connecting with a good, hard _clap_ of sound.

"Fuck..." Ezra muttered. His breathing quickened to match his heartbeat.

"Told you I'd get you back, didn't I?"

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Henrik only had three more left and he wanted to relish them. The skin around Ezra's briefs was turning bright red. "Want me to stop?"

" _No_ ," Ezra shot back. "Please, no." He was out of breath and completely flushed, a trickle of sweat forming on his forehead. The spanking turned him on to the point where he was nearly begging for more. "I don't want you to stop."

"Good," Henrik growled. He slapped Ezra's ass again, a little harder than the previous seven times.

 _Two more_.

Smack. Ezra made a noise that was practically a howl - a deep and earthy vibration from the base of his throat.

God. It was all Henrik could do not to tear those briefs right off that perfect butt. To think that there was only a thin layer of cotton separating him from that tempting, delicious mound...

 _SMACK_. Ezra's back arched as the final spank hit him. Henrik gave his butt one more tantalizing squeeze before he helped Ezra pull his pants back up.

"You sure you can't leave these jeans off for the rest of the game?"

Ezra buttoned them and pulled off from Henrik's lap. He seemed exhausted, but still game to continue. "I earned that dare fair and square. Nothing's coming off me this round."

"Fine, fine." Henrik kissed him. He wasn't sure what compelled him to - maybe it was the dizzy, satisfied look on Ezra's face. But Henrik needed the closeness, needed to know that he was okay. Besides, those lips tasted heavenly. "We can stop if you want," he said quietly.

Ezra shook his head. "No, let's keep going."

"You're sure?"

"It'll be a little hard to sit from now on, but I want to play. _And_ get you back."

Henrik laughed. "You're gonna do the spanking, now?"

"In due time," Ezra teased. "But my goal today is to get all those clothes off first."

* * *

A few rounds later, Ezra was nearly halfway toward his goal. He successfully answered another truth ("What was the last thing you've roleplayed during sex?", "A male nurse with a sore throat") and pulled off another dare ("Send a sext to a random person in your phone's contacts", which Ezra did to the befuddlement of a former roommate). So far, all of his clothes remained on his body.

Henrik, however, wasn't progressing as nicely. When asked to name the most embarrassing thing to happen to him during sex, Henrik failed to produce an answer and had to take off his suit vest. To Ezra's utter delight, Henrik stumbled with yet another truth in the following round.

"What is the most embarrassing thing I've caught my parents doing?" Henrik repeated the question, more than a little perturbed. "That's disgusting!"

"That's the game, Viking. You have an answer or not?"

"I don't know! If I ever saw anything, I probably repressed it immediately..."

Ezra sighed and shook his head. "Then I think you owe me some skin."

Henrik looked down at his remaining visible clothes: a dress shirt and pants. Smirking, he unbuttoned the shirt.

" _Here_ we go." Ezra tilted his head back to enjoy the show. Today was truly a day of firsts - he certainly never made a hockey player strip before. Their spanking session had been new to him as well. For an activity built purely on degrading another person, a dark, hidden part of Ezra unabashedly enjoyed it. Sometimes pure sexual need overrode pride.

Henrik undid the last button and removed his shirt. Ezra's eyes simmered over the man's exposed torso, a perfect combination of bulky and toned. Most pleasing of all was the generous sprinkling of dark hair that rippled along the swell of Henrik's pecs. It flowed down his impressively defined eight pack abs and connected to the treasure trail that led under the waistband of his pants. His arms were just as impressive as the rest of him - muscular and solid. _Mmm._

Henrik wasn't even flexing or tensing, just sitting casually, and he still looked like a Greek god statue. "Like what you see?"

Ezra bit his lower lip and tried to focus. "Suddenly a little self-conscious about my gym routine. Or lack thereof."

"Please, I could bounce a quarter off your butt. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Henrik reached into the truth pouch. Watching him do it barechested only added to the unbearable erotic tension that charged the air between them.

"Weird." Henrik pulled out a green chip. There was no text on it. "What do green chips mean? They're blank."

They combed through the rules again and found a section they had skimmed over. Ezra read, "If a player finds a green chip in the truth pouch, they have the freedom to ask their partner any truth question their naughty mind can come up with. Similarly, a green chip in the dare pouch means the player can create any dare command they desire."

"This is intriguing," Henrik's deep voice pondered. "So I can ask you any truth I want?"

"Careful now. Great power, great responsibility."

Thinking carefully, Henrik patted the chip against his strong jaw. "If we lived in the same city and I asked you on a second date, would you say yes? And what would you want to do?"

"Hey! Those are _two_ questions."

"You can just answer the first," Henrik allowed. "Consider the second question a thought exercise."

Ezra had spent the entire day avoiding that _exact_ thought exercise. But refusing to answer would not only cost him a piece of clothing, it would stick an awkward knife in their otherwise enjoyable afternoon.

 _So keep the momentum going_ , he told himself. _Just think about it, hypothetically. A second date._ A burning excitement lit Ezra's stomach.

_Imagine that. Imagine a third date, too. A fourth, a fifth, a sixth. Imagine waking up every morning cocooned in Henrik's big arms, feeling his scruff on your skin as he kisses you hello. Imagine feeling_ _**this** _ _protected and cared for all the time. Imagine sitting dutifully in the stands of all his hockey games, cheering him on, being so excited to see him play even if you have no idea what's going on._

_Imagine steeling yourself as you bring Henrik home to meet mom and dad. Imagine the dazzled look on dad's face as Henrik's strong handshake catches him off guard. Imagine mom's smile when she notices how happy Henrik's made me, the lilt in her voice when she quietly tells me she's never seen me like this before._

When Ezra finally answered, he wasn't sure if he wanted to smile or cry. "I'd say yes to a second date. Uh huh."

Henrik tossed the green chip onto the table. His left pectoral flexed and jumped involuntarily. "Where would you want me to take you?"

"That depends where we're living in this little scenario. Toronto or Portland?"

"Let's consider both. What if I lived in Toronto?"

Ezra navigated the possibilities. "Hrrmm. We'll start with dinner at Pizzeria Libretto on Ossington. I already know what I want: the prosciutto pizza with the beet caprese salad. Then, depending on what's playing, we could catch a documentary at the Lightbox. And we can finish the night with a drink at 3030 Bar in the Junction. This is all on me, by the way."

Henrik stroked his palm against Ezra's knee. "I don't think I've ever let someone pay for me on a night out."

"If we end up crashing another Zamboni, I'd be glad to let you foot the bill again." Ezra enjoyed a twinge of victory as the hockey captain laughed. He loved hearing that sound. "So what about Portland? I've never been before."

Henrik didn't need to think quite as long as Ezra. "We'll watch the sunset at Skidmore Bluffs first."

"Starting with a hike, huh?" Ezra shook his head with a grin. He should have known Henrik's date ideas would be a tad more athletic than his.

"We can grab a Spanish coffee at Hubert's Cafe after. Or maybe the Swift Lounge. Cocktails in mason jars, that's a very Portland thing," Henrik said. His fingers lazily drifted up and down Ezra's denim-covered knee. "There's always some kind of outdoor movie screening. We could grab a blanket and a flask and crash one."

Ezra huffed with faux caution. "That sounds _very_ dangerous."

"Ah, but I'll protect you, remember? You're safe with me."

Ezra smoothed his hand over Henrik's. "If I was with you I wouldn't be worried at all."

"Good," Henrik smiled. "Because in addition to my career as a professional ice hockey forward, I'm an excellent crime fighter."

"So I've heard, Clark Kent. Where else in Portland are you taking me?"

"We'll be finishing the night up at the city's best view. Hands down."

"Where's that?"

"My place."

Heat prickled Ezra's skin. "I like the sound of that. What kind of place do you live in?"

"It's just a penthouse. Nothing special."

Ezra could tell he was being modest. Still, he couldn't resist the opportunity to rib the man. "And how many floors does this not-special-penthouse have? Three, four?"

Henrik's grin widened. "I'm gonna bend you over my knee again if you keep going."

"Five, six... private elevator included? Which bookshelf hides the entrance to your Batcave?"

"That's it." As elegantly calculated as a panther, Henrik leapt across the sofa and pounced the hysterically giggling Ezra. Their tangled bodies slipped from the cushions and took a hard fall to the floor, Henrik letting himself absorb the brunt of impact. In the chaos, a leg bumped into the coffee table and spilled the game pouches all over the floor in a spray of blue and pink plastic chips. Ezra took advantage of their momentum by forcing them to roll over until he was straddling Henrik to the floor. The position they ended up in wasn't bad at all - slender, lean Ezra perched atop Henrik's strong, solid body.

"Gotcha," Ezra whispered.

Henrik started to get up but Ezra pinned the man's hands behind his head. A daring checkmate.

"I thought I was the bossy one today," the hockey captain growled.

"I decided to even the odds a little bit."

Henrik chuckled. "You know I could very easily get out from under you if I wanted."

Feeling dangerous, Ezra bent low until his lips almost touched Henrik's ear. He spoke slowly, lustfully. "But you don't _want_ to get out, do you?"

Another growl escaped Henrik, half-frustrated and half-aroused. His erection shifted and strained beneath his pants, threatening to tear the wool fabric. Ezra sensed it against his jeans. He was close enough to smell Henrik's scent, a wonderful and dizzying combination of pine, body wash, and man.

"What about the game?" Henrik murmured.

"Oh, the game is still on. We're just playing on the floor now."

"With you sitting on me, huh?"

"I hope that wasn't a complaint."

"Believe me, it's not."

Ezra's hungry eyes roamed up the man's Herculean torso, along his arms, and toward the wrists that were still pinned above his head. Henrik was a top, no doubt about that, but he looked unbelievably sexy while being dominated.

"Truth or dare?" Ezra asked.

"Dare."

Ezra finally let go of Henrik's wrists and dug through a nearby pile of fallen game chips. He fished out a green piece. "Hmm. What are the chances of that?"

"Cheater," Henrik laughed. "You were _looking_ for a green chip."

Ezra's wicked smile returned. "I dare you to take off your pants."

"Hey, you can't make that a dare!"

"Sure I can."

"If I refuse, I have to take off my pants anyway. I lose no matter what."

"That's called being a smart player, Viking. You're trapped."

"There's got to be some clause in the rules that forbids a dare like that."

"Fuck the rules!"

Henrik's pec muscles flexed involuntarily again. "I didn't become team captain by fucking the rules, Ezra."

"Okay, okay. I'll modify it a little. I dare you to let _me_ take off your pants... without using my hands."

Henrik's dark, furry eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Fuck the rules."

"So that's a yes?"

"That's a _hell_ yes."

Ezra let his sweater caress Henrik's bare skin while he slid down the athlete's body, stopping at the crotch of his wool pants. It was impossible to ignore the outline of Henrik's throbbing cock.

"You said no hands, remember."

Obliging his own requirement, Ezra placed both hands behind him like he was being arrested for a particularly provocative crime. Henrik lifted his head off the carpet, breathless as he soaked in the image of Ezra gingerly clamping his teeth around the zipper's button.

The fact that Ezra's face was so close to Henrik's crotch - the closest he'd been to another man's cock in quite a while - made his heart race with anticipation. After undoing the button, he used his tongue to move the slider of the zipper between his teeth.

"Fuck," was all Henrik could say. He squirmed as Ezra's mouth gently tugged the zipper all the way down, the gentle motion faint against his cock.

Ezra softly bit the open flap of the man's pants and yanked them down. Henrik lifted his waist to help ease them off, revealing black boxer briefs strained tight over the gargantuan tent of his cock. The deed done, Ezra sat back and gawked, mesmerized at the man's bare chest, boxer briefs and thighs. Delicious. And all for him.

Henrik propped himself up by his elbows. "I'm a little under dressed."

"Only a little, huh." Ezra tried to keep it light and cool but his restraint was ever so slowly chipping away. Henrik wasn't the only one in the room who was rock hard.

"What happens now?" Henrik asked, more suggestive than curious. "I'm one very important layer of cotton from a total loss."

"I'll go for one last turn. Leave you with some shred of dignity intact."

When Henrik laughed, Ezra was able to feel it reverberate through his thighs and up his chest.

"That's very sportsmanlike. A few of the rookies in the league could learn a thing from you."

Ezra readjusted the forgotten cap on his head. "I somehow doubt that Strip Truth or Dare is an essential part of hockey training, as much as I would pay to see that."

"So what'll it be for your last round? Truth or dare?"

Ezra hummed, thinking. "Truth, I guess."

Henrik didn't even bother to pretend looking for a new chip. He simply plucked the green one from Ezra's hand.

" _That's_ not very sportsmanlike," Ezra objected.

Henrik lay back down and drew an arm back to support his head, revealing an armpit full of dark hair. Ezra wasn't normally a pit guy, but _God_ , the man looked so fucking hot.

Henrik used his free hand to fiddle with the plastic chip. "What exactly do you want to happen when the game is over? That's my question. If I can tell you're not being honest, that hat is coming off. And then you'll be in real trouble."

Ezra wanted to chuckle but the question caught him off guard. "Do you mean immediately after our game? Or... _after_ after?"

"You decide."

 _Damn_. _I think we both know what I really want right now._

Ezra tried to recall the number of times he had sex on what constituted a first date. The actual number was paltry; he'd left many guys with the impression that he was frigid. Truthfully, that wasn't the case at all - Ezra just liked to take his time. The problem was that not many men wanted to stick around.

Suffice it to say, the _honest_ answer to Henrik's question was a little out of character for Ezra. He wanted Henrik the very moment the man stood up for him that morning in the cafe. That desire only intensified throughout the day. Ezra had never felt more safe with someone he only just met. And they were adults, damn it. Ezra was ready. Nervous, but ready.

"I want you to fuck me," Ezra finally said.

Henrik's smirk disappeared, replaced by a more primal desire. "Really?"

"You can't be _that_ shocked. Remember how we got into my apartment?"

"I just thought you were being... welcoming."

"I'd like to be a little _more_ welcoming, then." Ezra's finger painted an invisible swirl along the man's naked chest. "What do you say?"

Henrik rose into a full sit, his washboard stomach flexing with the effort. With a growl of need, he grabbed the back of Ezra's head and kissed him. Their mouths met deeply, hungrily. Henrik snatched off the younger man's hat and stood up, effortlessly carrying Ezra with him.

Ezra moaned and pressed his body harder against the man's. He loved Henrik's gratuitous displays of strength. Sensing this, Henrik clasped a single arm across Ezra's lower back and hefted him over his broad shoulders in a classic fireman's carry position.

"Hey!" Ezra was laughing so hard he could barely get the words out. "I'm scared of heights!"

"I got you, don't worry." Henrik readjusted Ezra slightly then walked out of the living room. "Where'd you say your bedroom was?

* * *

Henrik nudged open the bedroom door with his knee and entered. Like Ezra himself, the bedroom was both warm and creative, eclectic and familiar. Heavily used art supplies lay on disorganized piles on a work station. Framed charcoal sketches and watercolor paintings decorated the walls - if Henrik wasn't so preoccupied with getting the younger man naked, he'd have asked if Ezra created all the artwork himself.

He lowered Ezra to the double bed and helped him tug off his sweater. Just as Henrik suspected, beneath Ezra's clothes was a taut and defined body, slender and smooth save for a sprinkling of hair below his flat stomach. Unlike the brawny men he saw every day, Ezra had a runner's physique, a figure built for endurance.

"I need you naked and underneath me," Henrik grunted. Ezra didn't need to be told twice. He unbuttoned his jeans and kicked them off. Henrik got another eyeful of his adorably sexy red briefs before joining Ezra on the mattress. Their bodies met again, charged with the unspeakably erotic sensation of skin against skin. Ezra's arousal was so palpable he actually shivered in their hot embrace, which only made Henrik want to hold him tighter.

Fuck. He ached to be inside Ezra. While everything else about his life was so complicated, physically and mentally, being around the younger man had introduced Henrik to something entirely new and welcome. He could actually relax. Smile. Enjoy himself. It was almost magical the way Ezra made him forget about all the pressures that dogged him on a daily basis.

Henrik kissed him with everything he had, never wanting it to end. When Ezra pulled away, the world was spinning so fast that it took Henrik a moment to reorient himself.

"Henrik?" There were red marks around Ezra's mouth from the heavy friction with his beard.

"Yeah?"

Ezra reached over and softly bit and licked at his right earlobe. His voice dropped to a breathy pant. "I want to suck your cock."

Jesus. Lust ignited in Henrik's belly as if the words were gasoline. They kissed again, Henrik so amped with desire he was practically snarling. He hooked a thumb under the waist of his boxer briefs and tugged them down. The warm, mammoth girth of his erection slapped against Ezra's naked stomach.

"Holy shit," Ezra muttered under his breath. He kissed and licked down Henrik's hairy chest until he was up close against the man's cock. Ezra slid his tongue along the shaft, leaving a thick trail of saliva over the throbbing flesh. Overloaded with pleasure, Henrik closed his eyes and dropped his head to the mattress. With a firm grip on the shaft, Ezra dragged his tongue across the tip of the head, igniting sensations Henrik didn't know he was capable of feeling.

Ezra took the shaft between his lips and Henrik sighed deeply at the warm, wet feeling that enveloped his cock. Henrik slid into his mouth inch by inch, moaning and buckling under the pleasure of Ezra's curious tongue. He roped his fingers through the younger man's golden hair and guided him up and down his cock, each turn ending in a pleasantly messy _smack_ of Ezra's mouth.

Their eyes caught each other. Henrik's rugged face was drowsy with ecstasy. "Don't stop," he groaned.

Ezra smiled. He was so goddamn beautiful it made Henrik's chest ache.

He didn't know how long it had been since they started, Henrik's concept of time had melted away with their clothes. He definitely didn't want to cum this early, yet it was hard to argue with his cock was being worshiped so enthusiastically. It almost hurt him to speak up but he knew that staying silent meant blowing his chance. _In a manner of speaking_.

"Hey, I've got an idea."

Ezra wiped the stray dribbles of saliva and pre-cum from his lips. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Fuck, no. But I don't wanna cum too soon."

"What do you want to do?"

"Turn around."

The formerly apprehensive look on Ezra's face became a knowing, devious grin. Henrik guided the young man's body until he was propped up on his hands and knees. With a fevered intake of breath, Henrik pulled down the red briefs. He was rewarded with the sight of Ezra's gorgeous butt, which was soft and grippable, and dimpled with the faded pink outline of his hand from their spanking session.

Henrik grabbed two handfuls of that ass and licked along the right left cheek. Ezra's whole body tensed for a moment then relaxed. Encouraged by the reaction, Henrik licked again, letting his tongue linger closer to the crack. After a third lick, Henrik popped a finger into his mouth and slowly inched the wet digit between the crevasse of Ezra's cheeks.

The younger man's mouth opened in a soundless moan. Henrik slid his finger deeper into the enclosed warmth. Ezra was pleasingly tight, almost to the point of resistance.

"Oh god," Ezra moaned into his bedspread. Henrik smiled, withdrew his finger carefully and went back to licking his cheeks. His lips danced closer and closer to Ezra's crack until Henrik's tongue found the edge of his saliva-wet hole. Ezra's body tightened again on reflex.

Undeterred, Henrik's bearded mouth pushed deeper between his cheeks.

* * *

The truth of the matter was that Ezra hadn't been fucked in a good long while. It had been about a year by his count and even then, it wasn't all that satisfying. After all that time being metaphorically benched, Henrik gently working his tongue closer and closer to his hole was a sensory revelation.

After a few more moments of teasing, Henrik's tongue dragged across Ezra's hole, sloppy and greedy and wet. Ezra couldn't even begin to describe what he was feeling. But it was fucking g _ood_.

Henrik's fingers wrapped around Ezra's hard member and stroked slowly, lovingly as his tongue continued to prod his hole. Ezra had never been eaten out by a man with a beard before and now he never wanted it to stop. It was gentle but overwhelming.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Ezra's voice seemed to get extremely low and extremely high all at once. Before he found himself on the edge of climax, he reached back to grab Henrik's shoulder. "Okay, okay. Wait. Just... wait a sec."

Henrik eased off. His face was moist as he grinned ear to ear. Ezra reached the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom.

"You're ready?" Henrik asked.

Ezra nodded and repositioned himself on the mattress. Henrik slicked the lube over his aching member with a couple of long strokes. He bent over until his hairy chest grazed the top of Ezra's back. Every pulse in Henrik's body thrummed with desire, Ezra could feel it through his hot skin.

"I'm ready."

Ezra closed his eyes and tried to relax as Henrik pushed the tip of his cock inside him. After a moment, Henrik eased another inch in. Ezra's head dropped and his body trembled, ached as it accepted Henrik's girth. Another inch in and Ezra grasped at his blankets with white knuckles. A warm, slick pressure inside him expanded, like he was being stretched out from within. It wasn't an impossible fit, but Henrik was _big_.

Henrik took his shoulder and gently kneaded the muscle. "It's okay. You're okay," he whispered. His low, reassuring voice was helping. He slid another inch into Ezra and the resistance lessened. Ezra's back unclenched. "Yeah, that's good. That's good, just relax."

Henrik slid back then forward, back then forward, slow and easy. Ezra's face pinched slightly then calmed. He couldn't quite vocalize how he felt - it hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt.

"You're so tight," Henrik breathed.

"Keep going. A little harder."

Henrik fucked him with a little more force, watching his cock disappear into that smooth, slick ass. Ezra reached down and played with his stiff cock, which ached from the blossoming heat inside him. "Harder." His voice escaped as a strangled cry.

Henrik started to pick up speed. His torso glistened with sweat. "You want that?"

Ezra could barely speak as the man slammed into him. "Please."

"I got an idea." Carefully, Henrik withdrew from Ezra and turned him on his back. He rested Ezra's legs on the broadness of his shoulders and then teased the boy's thighs with a series of delicate, sensitive kisses.

Their eyes connected and for a moment, Ezra's entire world melted away. He couldn't deny the truth any longer. He wanted nothing more than to be with Henrik, to feel the fullness of his chest as their bodies embraced, to memorize every detail of that rugged face, to blush before those eyes that were so piercing yet so tender. It was the purest and truest feeling he'd ever known.

Once Ezra was ready, the hockey captain pushed up inside him again. It was easier this time and felt nicer - like a deep, _deep_ massage. Henrik let one of his Ezra's legs fall to the side as they eagerly kissed again. Moaning, Ezra thrust his tongue into the man's mouth. They stayed this way, making out and fucking, Ezra's fingers nearly tearing at the sheets under him. Henrik's massive cock repeatedly hit his prostate and Ezra's throat filled with low, guttural cries of heated bliss. Henrik pumped into him again and again, each stroke more indulgent and gratifying than the last, as sweat trickled down his meaty pecs and washboard stomach.

Ezra ran his hands up Henrik's rippling arms and felt them clench and contract with effort.

"Harder?" Henrik asked.

"Please."

"Tell me you want it."

"Fuck me harder. Please. God, please."

Henrik's fingers wrapped around Ezra's member and jerked him while ramming his hole. Ezra arched his lower back as the hockey captain's girth started to expand inside him.

"Getting close," Henrik grunted.

"Me too. Fuck, keep going."

Henrik hammered away at his ass until he couldn't take it anymore. He pulled out and rolled the condom off his cock, jerking it eagerly over the younger man's bare stomach.

"I'm gonna... I'm gonna c..."

With a deep, powerful grunt, Henrik shot wave after wave of sticky hot cum all over Ezra's stomach and chest. The sensation was so powerful and surrendering that Ezra came barely a moment later with a shuddering gasp. Neither man could see for a moment; both of them were blind with warm, sleepy euphoria.

Henrik's arms buckled and he fell as gently as he could onto Ezra's warm body. They wrapped their arms around each other, not caring that they were covered in a slick sheen of cum and sweat.

"Fucking hell." Ezra couldn't stop trembling. The adrenaline of pleasure roared inside his ears, his brain, his entire body. He rested his head against the hot crook of Henrik's neck and tried to catch his breath.

"You okay?" Henrik panted.

"I'm... I don't think there's any word in any language for how great I'm feeling."

Henrik hugged him closer. It was so odd - but entirely welcome - to feel completely engulfed by another man. The comforting vulnerability of it was something Ezra could get used to.

"How are _you_ feeling?" Ezra asked. He noticed Henrik's dark brown hair was damp against his forehead.

"I've got a few untranslatable words in mind too," the man chuckled. "Maybe even a few in Swedish."

Ezra gingerly traced a circle on one of Henrik's pecs. "Do you speak Swedish fluently?"

"Oh, of course. My parents aren't great with English, so it's the only way we can talk."

"Can you say something to me? In Swedish, I mean? I know that's corny, but..."

Henrik softened. "Of course. What do you want to hear me say?"

"Anything. Anything you want."

Henrik thought very carefully. He looked so worldly all of a sudden, a man with great experience and a lot to share. His voice lowered into a gentle, sincere murmur. " _Jag tror jag älskar dig_."

"What does that mean?"

Henrik's grin turned sly. "You never said I had to translate."

"Hey!" Ezra jokingly poked his chest and rolled off to grab his iPhone from the floor. "I'm asking Siri what you just said."

"No way!" Henrik shot up and playfully wrestled Ezra back to the bed. The younger man fumbled with the iPhone as he tried to unlock it, laughing as Henrik's arms squeezed around him.

"Come on, I want to know!"

A bright flash interrupted their horseplay, momentarily blinding them. Ezra turned over the screen and tried blinking the fireworks from his vision. "Ah, shit. I accidentally took a picture."

"Let me see?"

"I look _terrible_." Ezra's face had been caught in an unflattering snarl while Henrik was captured in a handsome moment of repose. "You look like a cologne ad, naturally."

Henrik kissed him in an effort to distract him. It worked. Ezra forgot about his phone and leaned fully into the kiss, faintly tasting his own essence in Henrik's mouth.

They gave themselves a moment to savor the silence between them. Ezra's voice fell to a hush. "I'm a big fan of what you and I just did in here."

"I'd argue that I'm the _biggest_ fan of what you and I just did. You're sure you're alright?"

"I am. Trust me." Ezra's eyes lowered briefly to his chest. "Though I think we're in danger of being eternally glued together if we stay like this."

Henrik laughed. "How about a shower? I think we've earned it."

"Yeah, let's do it."

Henrik eased off the bed, allowing Ezra a spectacular full view of his naked body. The athlete was a delicious tower of muscle, from his broad shoulders, to his meaty butt, to his bulky, hairy calves. _Damn. I can only imagine what he looks like all wet and soapy._

Ezra grabbed his phone again before leaving the bed. "Siri," he said into the device. "What does _Jag tror jag_..."

"Hey!" With lightning fast reflexes, Henrik spun around and scooped Ezra back into a fireman's carry.

Ezra laughed hysterically, nearly dropping his phone before snatching it back from the clutches of gravity. He caught a brief glimpse of the display - he seemed to have opened an app, but he couldn't tell which one. His fingers blitzed across the screen as he tried in vain to get Siri open again, but Henrik had started toward the bathroom and the _boom boom boom_ of his steps made the task impossible. He couldn't tell what was happening on the screen anymore. Defeated, Ezra flung the phone back onto the bed before the twosome disappeared into the bathroom.

Unbeknownst to either man, the iPhone's screen was still on when it landed on the mattress. Displayed on the clear 4.7 inch screen was the accidental photo of Ezra and Henrik in bed together. In the chaotic jumble of Henrik ushering Ezra to the bathroom, the picture had been accidentally attached to a tweet and uploaded onto Twitter.

But it wasn't on Ezra's personal account. It was PopViral Entertainment's account.

The sound of giggling and the rushing stream of shower water cut the silence. Meanwhile, a thunderous stream of unending notifications and text messages started to flood Ezra's phone...


	6. Breaking News from TMZ Sports!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following is an excerpt from TMZ.com:

**_GAY HOCKEY CAPTAIN CAUGHT IN SEX SCANDAL WITH FORMER POPVIRAL JOURNALIST_ **

 

 

4:33 pm, February 13

 

_Talk about a two-man advantage!_

_Portland Knights team captain **Henrik Ford** was just caught in a saucy snap with a 'puck bunny' of the male variety, **TMZ Sports** has learned. This intimate, barechested pic (who wants to bet Henrik isn't wearing his jockstrap?) was tweeted barely half an hour ago from @PopViralEnt, the Entertainment handle of the notorious online social news juggernaut._

_Our sources have learned that the mystery pretty boy in question is **Ezra Grayson** , 24. A PopViral representative confirmed that Ezra was employed with them as a pop culture journalist but was released from his job several hours before the image was posted. Ouch. Could this slapshot of an image be a scorned ex-employee's revenge?_

_Henrik is currently in Toronto, Canada where he led the Knights to a 3-2 victory against the Leafs just last night. The location definitely checks out, if you're still skeptical about the picture -- PopViral and Ezra are both based in Toronto._

_Henrik is the first and currently only NHL player to be openly gay, as he revealed during a notorious post-game press conference two years ago on Valentine's Day (which would make tomorrow the two year anniversary)! Beyond that, he's largely stayed out of the spotlight, turning down high-profile interviews and covers with Out Magazine and The Advocate. Henrik is notoriously prickly with the press and since coming out of the closet, he's refused to answer any questions about his personal life._

_As of this writing, the scandalous picture has not been taken down by PopViral and has quickly amassed over 10,000 retweets and shares across social media._

_We reached out to the Portland Knights and Henrik's camp for comment -- so far, no word back._

 

* * *


	7. About Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henrik and Ezra finally have an honest, realistic discussion about their future as a couple. But a burgeoning media scandal threatens to undo everything they've worked for.

Violet coughed up her mouthful of tea.

She thought her eyes were deceiving her at first, the byproduct of her lack of sleep and concentration. What was supposed to be a relaxing day working at home became damage control for her little brother's sudden loss of a job, which then evolved into a full afternoon of dogsitting a very, very energetic young corgi.

So when Violet thought she saw an article on TMZ with the frenzied headline ' _ **GAY HOCKEY CAPTAIN CAUGHT IN SEX SCANDAL WITH FORMER POPVIRAL JOURNALIST**_ ', she couldn't blame herself for thinking she'd fallen into a bizarre, backwards daydream.

Her heart racing, Violet pulled the iPad closer to her face and squinted in the dim late afternoon light of her den. Below the headline was a picture of two men, shirtless from what she could see, affectionately embracing on a bed. Her brother Ezra was on the right, his face frozen in a very unfortunate scowl. Henrik, the very tall and very hirsute man she met a mere hour ago, was cuddled beside him. There was no denying how intimate the two of them looked (Ezra's unattractive expression aside).

She knew immediately that the photo wasn't a fake. For one, she had quite the talented eye for such things as a retoucher for Elle Canada magazine. But more importantly, she recognized the ugly plaid pattern of the bedspread in the picture. Violet detested the thing and offered to buy Ezra higher quality bedding nearly every time she visited. And there it was. Plain as day. The backdrop of her little brother's sex scandal.

"Jesus Christ," she said aloud. At her feet, Rhubarb perked up - perhaps sensing that his owner was in the news. "Not you, Rhubarb. You're gonna want to sit this one out."

Hoping to find some logical explanation, Violet read the full article, her eyes feverishly combing every word and comma. Her palms were so moist with sweat that the iPad was slipping from her fingers.

She didn't even bother to read the article's comments, which had already tallied into the late hundreds and were likely full of braindead, homophobic rhetoric. After a quick search Violet found that numerous other sites had picked up the story, too: Gawker, Deadspin, Perez Hilton, ESPN, news outlets both local and American. Memes were already spreading. Many inexplicably depicted Henrik and Ezra as SpongeBob characters.

 _Fucking internet weirdos_.

Leaving Ezra and Henrik alone with that Valentine's gift basket wasn't an accident on her part. She was a modern woman, damn it. She was sex positive. And Ezra deserved to relax. She just hadn't anticipated that a revealing memento of his afternoon would go goddamn _viral_.

Violet replaced her iPad with her phone and hit speed dial on Ezra's number. The call connected almost immediately to voicemail. It was already full.

"Fuck!"

Rhubarb let out a confused yip as his tall ears perked. Violet pulled him onto her lap. "Sorry, boy. I'm okay. I'm okay." She stroked his cinnamon-colored fur, her tense eyes staring right through him.

 _It's your owner I'm worried about_...

* * *

Ezra scooped out the last of the double chocolate chip cookie dough and gently slid the baking sheet into the hot oven. Henrik was just getting out of the shower and Ezra wanted to surprise him with a few baked goods. The timing was perfect; he'd made the dough yesterday and chilled it (as Ina Garten recommends), thinking he'd have it all to himself for the weekend.

He smiled. Something about home baked cookies tasted better when they were being shared.

"Found this on your dresser," Henrik announced as he entered the kitchen. A towel was draped around his waist but he was otherwise naked, his wet hair handsomely combed back. Ezra was so overloaded with renewed lust that he almost didn't see his brown leather artist portfolio in Henrik's hands.

"Oh, that? It's just for my stupid doodling. They're not very good."

Henrik leaned against the counter. "Your art, you mean? Can I see?"

It was hard to say no to a man in a towel, he had to admit. "Did I mention they're not very good?"

"One of my guys on the Knights, Lukas Bjornlund? Great man and very modest, almost to a fault. Always talking down his offensive play. Thing is, he's by far the best center on the team. The most creative, too. So pardon me for saying that I don't believe you," Henrik handed the portfolio back to him. "You don't have to show me if you don't want to. But I'd really love to see your favourites, at least."

"Alright, alright," Ezra relented. He never shared his drawings with anyone other than his sister and a few friends. Pushing his nervousness away, Ezra laid his portfolio open and flipped through the pages. "It's mostly character sketches. Faces, different angles, things like that."

He pointed out drawings of famous actors and musicians, public figures, friends, iconic fictional characters. Henrik nodded along, eyes wide, mumbling with astonishment.

"They look so real," he almost touched a page but didn't. "Like I could just reach into the paper and touch their faces."

"Shucks."

Ezra wanted to explain that photorealism was something most artists could do - it was putting one's own unique spin on something that proved hardest to master. He flipped over to a section of his more cartoony work. His most detailed drawing was the Sailor Scouts reimagined as post-apocalyptic Mad Max warriors. Unlike his previous artwork, the realism was pared down to an exaggerated, animation-like style.

"These girls are my favourites. How familiar are the Swedes with Sailor Moon?"

Henrik laughed. "My little cousins in Philadelphia _love_ Sailor Moon. But I don't think they've ever seen them like this before."

Smiling, Ezra showed him more: Wonder Woman as a rowdy 1920s-era flapper girl, Luke Skywalker updated into a Brooklyn hipster, the Power Rangers revised as archetypes from the Final Fantasy series. "This is the stuff I love doing," Ezra explained. "I call it reinventive fanart. How does that sound? Dumb?"

"It's fucking brilliant." Henrik's eyes scanned the edge of the page and saw a figure he didn't recognize. "Who's this guy?" He tapped a finger against a tall man wearing goggles and a futuristic, neon exoskeleton over a flight suit. Clutched in one hand was a simple Victorian pocket watch.

"Ah," Ezra's face went red. "I don't have a name for that guy yet. He's an original."

"Superhero?"

"Kinda. The pocket watch gives him the power to travel through time and space. He's using it to find his lost love. It's still a rough concept but I'd like to develop it more. I don't know yet."

Henrik stood behind Ezra and wrapped his big arms around the boy, holding him close against his damp skin.

Ezra's entire body warmed. "What's this for?"

"You should see yourself when you talk about your art. You get so excited. It's cute."

"Wow, he thinks I'm cute. Sir, you are as bold as brass."

Henrik squeezed him tighter. "You should be sending your stuff out to comic book publishers. I'm serious."

Ezra turned, the hockey captain's arms still entwined around his waist. "You think so? I don't know if my stuff is ready."

"Looks ready to me."

"I don't think I'm prepared for all those rejection letters just yet."

Henrik frowned. "You won't know until you do it, right? And if someone like Marvel or DC doesn't hire you right away, there's always those smaller companies. I'm sure they have apprenticeship programs for new artists."

Ezra's eyes clouded with uncertainty. Taking such big risks was never his thing, especially for something as high stakes as a new career.

"It's just a thought," Henrik added.

"Yeah, maybe. Who knows."

They kissed lightly, then again with more urgency. _Mmm_. Something about it felt strangely (but agreeably) domestic. A man in a towel holding him in his kitchen, cookies in the oven...

 _Cookies._ His mind snapped to the forgotten treats. _In the oven_. _Is something burning...?_

"Shit!" Ezra broke their embrace and switched the oven light on. "I forgot to set the timer. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"I was, uh, just about to ask what that smell was."

Coughing, Ezra removed the baking sheet from the oven. All but one cookie was burnt to a blackened, useless crisp. "Ah, that's just fantastic."

Henrik chuckled as he nudged the flat, dry edge of one. "This was going to be our post-coital snack, I take it?"

"Man, I never forget the timer. That was dumb."

"I was distracting you."

"Well." Ezra slid his hands up the man's biceps and then around his neck. "You're very good at doing that." Their lips met again and Ezra melted into it, moaning softly. It was the best possible compromise - Henrik was one thousand times more delicious than any cookie.

Henrik looked up suddenly. "Hey, what time is it?"

Ezra glanced at the oven's digital clock. "It's quarter to five. Do you have to go?"

"Not yet, no. I just thought it was later."

"You're not worried about the press conference, are you?" It was hard to imagine Henrik worried about anything, the man was so solid and self-assured.

"No matter how well you do in a game, these reporters still find a hardball or two or three to throw at you. I've done hundreds of these damn things and I still hate them. Wanna know the funny thing? I've gotten into fistfights during games with guys who have a hundred pounds on me yet nothing makes me more nervous than the press box."

Ezra frowned. "They can be that cruel, huh?"

"Wouldn't say cruel, but they're definitely not here to kiss your ass. A lot of them are more interested in getting a reaction than an honest interview."

"You know what I think you should do tonight?" Ezra grabbed a burnt cookie and placed it on the counter. "Put a hockey puck on the table in front of you. Announce to every reporter in that room that every time someone asks you a question you don't like..." Ezra smacked the cookie into the sink with a butter knife. "...you'll whack it with your hockey stick right into their stupid fucking faces."

"I like it," Henrik said with a great laugh. "That's the best advice I could ask for. Shame you can't be with me for all my conferences."

Ezra paused a second longer than he should have. "Yeah," he managed. "Right."

A corner of Henrik's furry mouth tugged down. "Sorry. Was that a weird thing to say?"

"No! Not at all." His voice made him want to cringe - it got all high and weird when he was trying too hard to sound casual. Ezra released his arms from the man's neck and swallowed a hard lump in his throat. "I'm just going to go throw on some pants."

Ezra clapped a hand against his bare thigh as he slipped into the hallway. After their shower he slipped into a t-shirt with a pair of underwear and stopped there. Now, he was grateful for the excuse.

* * *

Henrik dropped his towel and pulled on the pieces of his suit that he'd discarded in the living room. The mood in the apartment had dropped considerably and he knew that it was his own damn fault. Ezra had disappeared into his bedroom ten minutes ago and still hadn't come out.

 _That's what you get for trying to be funny, Viking_. Glowering, he zipped up his pants.

The two of them came to an understanding earlier that day. They were 'on the same page', as they called it. Whatever happened between them wouldn't go beyond Henrik's time in Toronto. Ezra didn't want the long distance thing. That was fine, he wasn't fond of it either. If Henrik was going to dive into a relationship after years of being out of practice, he definitely wanted it to be with someone he didn't need a plane ticket to spend time with.

 _And yet_...

The other guys in the Knights knew that Henrik was one extremely perceptive captain. "Perceptive in a _spooky_ way," goalie Nicholas McCullough said once. If someone had just broken up with their girlfriend, Henrik knew, because it lent a very specific sloppiness to a man's skating pattern. If the wingers weren't getting along with each other? Henrik knew that, too, because those foggy, annoyed looks on their faces screwed up their aiming.

Suffice it to say, Henrik suspected something had been up with Ezra all day. A kind of push and pull had developed between them, a yearning to get closer, then a resistance. Their tense moment in the kitchen only confirmed what he'd already been thinking.

 _And you're relieved, aren't you_? _Because you've been feeling the same goddamn way as him and you were too scared of being the first one to say it_.

Henrik buttoned up his shirt and caught the reflection of his solemn, serious face in the surface of the living room television. He couldn't deny it anymore. Henrik didn't want his time with Ezra to end after tonight. He didn't want today to be the last day he'd hear Ezra's voice, kiss his beautiful lips, or run his fingers through that soft head of hair.

As much as it pained him to admit, Xavier had been right when they spoke earlier that morning. Since that fateful day two years ago when Henrik admitted to a roomful of slackjawed journalists that he was gay, his focus had been entirely on his career. It was really his way of compensating. The buzz from his announcement focused solely on his sexuality, not his accomplishments as an athlete or his continued charity work with Portland's Stand for Children Leadership Program. So he doubled down on his role as a captain and mentor - and his personal life suffered for it. The nights he didn't spend with his team or the charity were empty and quiet. There was no one to hold, watch a dumb movie with, take to a nice restaurant...

He'd spent so long telling himself that was all okay. But it became increasingly difficult to ignore the truth: it wasn't making him happy.

And now, there was one person who did.

* * *

A rustle of wind blew Ezra's hair from his face as he surveyed the courtyard below his building. He'd been standing in the small outdoor balcony off his bedroom for about ten minutes before he debated going back inside. He wasn't sure he wanted to. The things Ezra had been terrified of all day were bubbling to the surface and he didn't know if he'd be able to face Henrik without completely breaking down.

 _Time's running out_ , his mind chastised. _You can't brood outside forever_.

Before he could argue any further with himself, the balcony door slid open and Henrik stepped out. He was back in his handsome blue suit again.

"Took me a moment to realize you had a balcony," Henrik said sheepishly. "I didn't notice it from your bedroom before."

"Well, we _were_ a little busy last time." Ezra tried to sound like his old cheery self but he didn't think it worked.

Henrik put his hands in his pockets and joined Ezra by the terrace. He watched the trees sway in the cold wind below. "Should I comment on the view? Or should we... start talking?"

Ezra's stomach did backflips. In the distance, cars trapped in traffic honked their horns, drowning his fears in a sea of noise. "Maybe we should talk."

"I think so too. You remember back in the ice rink? What we both said to each other?"

"'If we're both on the same page then no one gets hurt' and 'Whatever happens today won't mean anything.' I remember." Ezra couldn't even look at him. _God, this is awful_.

"Do you think that's still true, what we agreed on?"

Ezra couldn't avoid this forever. "No, I don't."

Henrik breathed like a crushing weight had finally lifted. "Yeah, I don't think so either."

"What does that mean, then?"

"It means I want to see you again, Ezra. And you want to see me too... I think."

Ezra's brows furrowed. "Of course I do. Fuck, I really, really do. Are you kidding? This has been the weirdest, most ridiculous, and flat-out _greatest_ day of my life." The encouraging smile on Henrik's face only made what he was about to say that much harder. "But that doesn't change how I feel about dating someone who lives on the other side of the continent. And in another country!"

"I know," Henrik said quickly. "I get it, absolutely. I feel the same way. But what if this is actually worth taking the chance? It's just like your drawings. You won't know until you actually start sending them out."

"Henrik..."

The hockey captain moved closer. "If you want this just as much as I do, why are you fighting it?"

Ezra's lips parted but no words came out. He turned away, his face burning, his eyes watering. Crying in front of Henrik was the last possible way he wanted their day to end.

"Well. I'm scared."

 _Fuck. I sound like a little kid_.

"Scared of what?"

"I'm scared that we'll try to make something between us happen and we'll fail. And then today, this _perfect_ day, will become an ugly dark stain that I won't be able to think about without remembering that failure."

Henrik allowed himself a moment to absorb the words. "I don't think you're scared of us failing. I think you're scared of letting yourself be happy."

"What?"

"Because if you're happy and something does go wrong, it'll hurt that much worse, right?"

"Well... yes."

"But that's a risk we all have to take, Ezra. That's a risk _I'm_ taking, too. You don't think I'm scared? You don't think this is all new for me as well? I promise I'm just as terrified as you are. More, actually."

Ezra couldn't respond. He wanted nothing more than to hide. Hide from what he was feeling, hide from the reality before him, hide from the future in front of them.

Henrik grasped both of Ezra's upper arms and stared down into his face. "I don't ever plan on doing anything that would ruin your memories of today. I promise."

Ezra's lips curled into a gloomy grin, his voice resigned and knowing. "But you don't know the future, Viking."

Henrik's eyes sparked. An idea formed. "You know what? Hold that thought, I'll be right back."

Bewildered, he watched Henrik disappear into the bedroom and shut the curtain behind him. A minute or so passed until the man re-emerged with a scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth and Ezra's bicycle goggles covering his eyes. The impromptu disguise was so ridiculous that Ezra couldn't help but laugh.

"You don't recognize me?" Henrik lifted his arms did a slow turn. "I'm your time traveler. The one you sketched but don't have a name for yet. I left the pocket watch in my other suit."

" _What_ are you doing?"

"You said I didn't know the future," Henrik pulled the scarf off his mouth and lifted the goggles to his forehead. "But I've traveled all the way here from the year 2082 to give you a message."

Ezra stared at him with simultaneous disbelief and wonder. He decided, for the sake of the conversation, to play along. "And what message do you bring me from 2082, oh wise traveler?"

"Your future self sent me here," Henrik began. "To tell you it's useless to worry about what comes next. To just let things happen."

"Ah. I see I've mellowed out in my old age."

"He - or, actually, you - said that even in his advanced years, he's never stopped thinking about today. It's never stopped being perfect. And he doesn't regret a thing about it."

 _Here it comes_. Ezra blinked the tears out of his eyes. He couldn't tell if he was sad or happy. He hoped for the latter.

Henrik was closer now, one hand on the small of Ezra's back. "Your future self went on to say you're about to enter some of the best years of your life. That stuff with your job, your career, you don't need to worry. It'll fall into place if you let it."

Ezra wiped his face, nodding. "Did my future self happen to tell you this from his crystal throne in his airship palace?"

" _One_ of his airship palaces," Henrik corrected.

Ezra laughed again. His heart rate began returning to normal. "And did he - I mean I - mention anything about the two of us?"

"Oh, he forbid me to talk about that. Said it would tear the fabric of time and space if everything was revealed too soon. But he did say something very important."

"What was it?"

Henrik bent until his forehead softly nudged Ezra's. "That whatever happens after today? It's all up to you."

Ezra's hands squeezed around the man's firm, hairy forearms. "You make a very convincing time traveler, you know that?" They kissed long and soft and deep. "But if you don't mind, I'd like Henrik back now."

Henrik obliged, removing the goggles and scarf. "Same old captain, at your service. Look, Ezra. If it's the travel logistics that you're worried about, I'll be taking care of it. I'll pay for all the airfare. If want to visit me but you don't feel comfortable staying at my place, that's cool. I'll get you the best hotel room in the city. I'm good friends with the manager at the Portland Hilton. And if I'm on the road-"

Ezra pressed a finger against the man's furry mouth. "Henrik."

"I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

"We can figure all of that out later."

Henrik picked up on the wording. "You just said later. Did I hear that right?"

Summoning all the courage he had, Ezra smiled. "Yes."

Henrik strong arms pulled Ezra off the ground spun them both in a joyously sloppy circle. Ezra laughed into his shoulder. "What's this for?"

"Just happy," Henrik murmured as he kissed Ezra's hair. "Happy we're getting a 'later'."

"You're _such_ a bleeding heart romantic."

Henrik's grin returned. "Oh, you haven't seen anything yet."

Their mouths met for another hot, wet kiss. Tongues danced against each other, fingers dug into shirt fabric, and low, happy moans simmered between lips.

Henrik broke off to catch his breath. "Guess this means we're back on the same page, huh?"

"I think we've always been on the same page," Ezra said. "It just happens to be in a different book now."

They leaned in for another kiss when Ezra heard something close by the balcony. It sounded like a high, mechanical snap. "Did you hear that?"

Henrik's eyebrows knitted together. "I did. It sounded like-" He saw it before Ezra did. Henrik grabbed him and pulled them both to the balcony floor, shielding themselves behind the terrace.

"What-?" Ezra's heart pounded in his throat. "Henrik, you're freaking me out."

Henrik exhaled sharply. "I saw a camera. With a long white lens. There's a paparazzi photographer in the courtyard and he saw us."

" _Paparazzi_? Here? How? Why?"

"All very good questions." Henrik lifted his face above the terrace edge. His blue eyes darkened, turned to stone. "He's still there. We need to get back inside."

Ezra followed him into the apartment, both of them bending low in a strange half-lurch. After locking his balcony door and drawing the blackout curtains, he whispered a silent, thankful prayer that they'd been closed their earlier escapade.

Henrik sat on the edge of the bed, silent. The grim frown on his ruddy face said everything for him.

"What should we do?"

"I don't know yet."

"I mean, does this happen a lot? I didn't know hockey players got hounded like this by photographers."

"We don't. Not unless..." Henrik drifted off.

"Not unless what?"

The man's steel eyes raised to meet his. "Someone tailed us because I'm with you. There's no other reason. If a pap sees just one player by himself, that's not much of a story. But if that player just so happens to be the only openly gay man in the league and he's photographed holding hands or kissing someone..."

He finished Henrik's thought for him. "...then that becomes the story of the year."

 _Fuck._ Dread sank into the pit of Ezra's stomach. This must have been the ultimate nightmare for someone as press and media-averse as Henrik.

Ezra sat beside him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I just- I just need to think for a moment."

Ezra didn't - couldn't think of the implications of those photos leaking. About a year ago for a work function, Ezra was forced to give a short introductory speech in front of an auditorium that had to be the size of a small country. Being under the spotlight _then_ was enough to make him hyperventilate. The thought of his picture circulating every sports (and possibly mainstream) news outlet outright made him want to empty the contents of his stomach.

After an uncomfortably long pause, Henrik spoke. "I should call management. No, my coach. Give him a heads up on what... might be coming. My phone's been off all day." His voice was curt, all business.

"Yeah," Ezra nodded quickly. "I should check my phone too."

Henrik left the bedroom as Ezra grabbed his iPhone, still in the same position on his bed. Pressing the home button only produced a black screen. The battery was dead.

 _Weird_ , he frowned. _Could've sworn it was on a full charge last time I checked it._

Ezra once interviewed an up-and-coming pop singer who said that a minorly controversial Facebook update managed to yield an astonishing number of notifications for her in only a few minutes. The near-constant deluge of pushes to her phone sapped the battery almost immediately. The anecdote had always stuck with him, but surely nothing of the sort was the reason why his iPhone was currently dead.

_...Right?_

As he searched for the charger, his mind raced. Even if the paparazzi's photos managed to take the world by storm only in the last several moments, could the Internet have connected his name to it that quickly? He wasn't a celebrity or a public figure, unlike Henrik.

_Okay, just stop, you're making yourself paranoid._

Finding the white cable, he plugged his phone into the wall and tried to control his breathing. In the living room he heard Henrik's deep voice speaking urgently. The walls muffled him but the speed of Henrik's words made that pit of dread grow even larger. He checked his phone but it was still in its initial charging phase, a blinking battery icon surrounded by black.  
  
 _Come on. Come on._  
  
Henrik's voice stopped, like someone pressed pause or mute. The silence startled him. He didn't like it one bit.

"Henrik?" He called at his open bedroom door. No answer. Ezra pressed his sweaty palms into his jeans, taking a moment to clear his mind before stepping into the hallway.

His anxiety grew as he reached the living room. Henrik was on the sofa and had one arm propped on his knee while he massaged his temple. In his other hand was a Blackberry phone, dangling precariously from his fingers. Ezra saw a blank, slack look on Henrik's face he didn't know the man was even capable of.

"Henrik? Hey, talk to me. What happened? Was that your coach just now?"

Henrik glanced up, almost surprised, as if hearing his voice from far away. "I think you should check your phone."

"It's charging. Can you please tell me what's wrong? You're scaring me."

Henrik switched his Blackberry on and tapped something. He used slow, careful movements, like he was on autopilot. Saying nothing, he handed the device over.

Ezra blinked once, twice, at the screen, then a third time. By the fourth blink, he started to understand that what he was seeing wasn't a horrible dream, but a mistake. _His_ mistake, on display for the entire world to see. 15,000 retweets of a PopViral Entertainment tweet. No text. Only the somewhat blurred image of Ezra and Henrik in bed together, reacting in two very different ways to his iPhone's camera flash.

The arm that held Henrik's Blackberry started to shake. Ezra's entire body turned both cold and hot, dry and sweaty, drowsy and hyper alert, all at once.

"I had a dozen voicemails when I turned my phone back on," Henrik said. "Only reason I don't have more is my phone ran out of room. My text messages aren't working anymore, I think I've gotten so many it's actually overloaded the server, or whatever. The first thing my coach said when I called him was that someone is probably trying to sabotage me, make me look like a fool. He thinks it's some local Toronto hacker who developed a grudge after we beat the Leafs."

Henrik wasn't relaying any of this angrily, or even sadly. If anything, he spoke with the distant, faraway voice of a shellshocked man.

Ezra pushed the words from his throat with great effort. "Henrik. I- I'm so sorry. Jesus Christ, I don't know how this happened. I- I'll delete it. I'll delete the tweet right now. I still have the account password. I can fix this!" He took off toward the bedroom. His feet moved as quickly as his heartbeat.

Henrik followed. "It's too late to do anything about it."

Ezra knew that was true. The internet was written in ink, not pencil. The picture was no doubt already on Tumblr, Facebook, _everywhere_. But he couldn't just let the damn thing stay up in its original form. Hands trembling, Ezra took his iPhone and pressed home. The device blinked back to life. He was right - it had been slammed with notifications, calls, texts, and voicemails.

"Ezra."

"I- it must have been right before we went to shower. I was fumbling around with Siri, I couldn't see what I was doing. I _thought_ I saw the Twitter app open but I couldn't- I didn't know-"

"Ezra," Henrik said again. "You have to stop and think."

Ezra reopened the Twitter app but a pop-up notification stopped him cold. "You no longer have permission to access this account," he read aloud, each word more panic-inducing than the last. "So _now_ PopViral decides to change the password? _Now_?! And the goddamn picture is still up? Why haven't they deleted it yet?!"

"Hey." Henrik snatched the phone from him and threw it back onto the bed. "There's nothing you can do now, okay?"

Ezra looped around the room, breathing hard, raking his fingers through his hair. "Henrik, you have to believe me, it was an accident. I know I've fucked a lot of things up but I never meant _this_ to happen."

"Stop. Ezra, stop." Henrik took his arms, not roughly, but with enough of a grip to make the younger man pay attention. "You need to calm down. I'm... I'm not mad at you, okay?"

"Okay," Ezra said, nodding, composing himself. He was calmer when he spoke again. "Okay. But I _am_ sorry. What are we going to do?"

"I don't know. Coach Taggert said he's been talking with PR for the past 20 minutes to see if they can spin this in any way that's positive. I highly fucking doubt they can, though."

Ezra shook his head. "I still don't understand why PopViral hasn't taken it down. They made us sit through this godawful seminar with HR on how to handle situations like this. The first line of defense is to change every social media account password and delete the offending post. Why would they do one and not the other? What makes this one picture so special?"

"Come here."

They sat down together. Henrik put one big arm around Ezra's shoulders and pulled him close.

"Did I mention how sorry I am?" Ezra murmured.

"It was an accident," Henrik said, a heavy sigh under his words. "You don't need to be sorry. We'll get through this."

"Yeah," Ezra said quietly. "I'm with you." He was glad Henrik wasn't angry with him, though the man still seemed on edge. Not that he could be blamed.

"Gotta say, though," Henrik inhaled. "Never heard Taggert scream that loud before. Not since we missed the playoffs in 2012."

"Is he mad at you?"

"Oh, he's fucking furious. No coach wants a media scandal for his team. But that's for me to deal with, not you."

 _Damn it_. Ezra hated hearing that. Henrik was already catching shit for something entirely out of his hands. "God, I really wish I could do... something," he sighed, frustrated. "Some way I could make it right. Like one of those medieval knights charging up on his horse."

Henrik squeezed his shoulder. "If only there was some kind of fortress to storm."

"Right..." Ezra glanced at his phone again. A light bulb went off in his head. He stood and zipped across his room, a new, manic energy taking over his body. Ezra pulled on socks, took his phone, and slipped into his jacket.

Henrik squinted. "What are you doing?"

"I'm storming the fortress," Ezra said boldly.

"What are you talking about?"

"I know why PopViral is leaving that tweet up. They're a petty, immature company, Henrik. They're trying to _humiliate_ me. They expect me to sit back and say nothing because hey, that's just the type of employee I was. But that's not who I am now, and I'm gonna say that to their faces." Ezra stepped into a pair of sneakers and laced them up.

"Wait," Henrik held his hand up. "You're going back to the PopViral office? Are you sure that's... what if they-?"

"It may be too late to stop the media shitstorm but I need to let them know I'm not taking this lying down." He shrugged. "It's not like they can fire my sorry ass a second time. What do I have to lose?"

Henrik rose from the bed. "Then I'm coming with you."

Ezra started scanning the room for his keys. "No, you've already been through enough because of me."

"I'm not letting you do this alone. You're not the only one PopViral is humiliating." It wasn't a suggestion, but a confident command, a matter of pride. It wasn't hard for Ezra to see why an entire team of grown men looked to Henrik as a leader.

"Then let's storm the fortress together," Ezra said with a hopeful nod.

* * *

Ezra closed the apartment door behind him and locked it. As he and Henrik approached the building stairwell at the end of the hall, Ezra's phone buzzed. He was almost too scared to look at the call display but he when he saw the name, he relaxed.

"Violet?"

"Ez!" his sister cried from the other end of call, "Jesus ball-punching Christ are you _okay_? I've been calling and calling and calling."

"I'm okay," Ezra said in his calmest register. "Me and Henrik just found everything out about five minutes ago."

"Where are you? Are you safe?"

He started down the stairs with Henrik following close behind him. "We're still at my building but I'm on my way to PopViral."

"What? Why?" From somewhere in Violet's house, Rhubarb barked.

"I'm going to see my former manager in person and tell her to take the fucking picture down already."

A pause. "Oh, god, Ez, I don't know. What if you two get swarmed by the paparazzi on your way there? That might just make things worse."

They reached the stairwell landing and entered the ground level lobby. "There was someone taking our picture in the courtyard a while ago but he was by himself. We can handle it. I promise."

"Do you need me to do anything?"

Now it was Ezra's turn to pause. The concern in his sister's voice made him want to crumble. Swallowing a lump, he tried his damnedest to hold it together. "Tell me I'm not being crazy."

"You're _always_ crazy," Violet said.

"Oh, pfft. Thanks." Weirdly, it's exactly what he needed to hear. "I'll call you back in a bit."

"I'm here," she said. "I'm always here. You know that."

They said their goodbyes. Henrik touched his elbow. "You alright?"

"I think so," Ezra took in a smooth, even breath. They walked to the vestibule, ready and eager to leave. They only managed a few steps before they saw the street outside the building.

Or, rather, the _lack_ of a street.

An immense sea of paparazzi photographers and hockey fans dressed in Portland Knights jerseys jammed the sidewalk and road, an impossibly intimidating wall of excited, screaming faces. A titanic chorus of voices, camera snaps, and blinding flashes rose into the air like a stadium chant as Henrik and Ezra stood numb behind the glass doors.

The lone paparazzi photographer from the courtyard was now a dim, distant threat compared to the circus outside.

"Okay," a frightened Ezra whispered. "Time for a Plan B."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of My Last Day Without You so far? Do you think Henrik and Ezra can make a relationship work? All feedback and comments appreciated. :)


	8. Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra confronts the deceptive PopViral over his leaked picture, while Henrik tries to come to terms with a shameful revelation from his past.

For a moment, Henrik couldn't speak or breathe. A hand tugged on his and he came spiraling back down to earth.

"We have to go," Ezra said. He pulled Henrik away from the lobby vestibule and into an adjacent corridor. The furious snaps of camera shutters shrieked behind them like thousands of cockroaches scuttling across a linoleum floor.

"Where?" He tried not to let the sound get under his skin.

"Out the back. Through the parking lot." Ezra spoke with more focus than Henrik had ever heard from him before. He led them both through a winding maze of hallways toward a windowless door down a short flight of stairs. They stopped in front of it. "It's exit only. They probably don't know we can get out this way. Fuck, how did the paps get my _address_?"

Henrik deepened his tone. "Our friend in the courtyard probably couldn't keep it to himself."

"How is this not illegal?"

"It only becomes illegal if they enter your premises. That's why they're staying on the street."

Ezra pushed the hair off his forehead with a frustrated grunt. Henrik squeezed his shoulder. "If you don't want to do this, I'll understand."

"No, I still do. Better than sitting around and waiting for the bad guys to go away."

Henrik nodded. "What's our game plan, then?"

"We'll cross the parking lot and take a couple of side streets on the way to Bloor. I can try to call a cab. They won't see us if we're quick."

Henrik agreed. Ezra edged the exit door open and peered into the empty parking lot. He shot outside a moment later, faster than anyone Henrik had ever seen who wasn't wearing a pair of skates.

Henrik kept an eye out for any stray photographers or fans but it seemed like they'd only clustered the front side of the building and left the parking lot alone. That was fine by him. The easier they'd get out of this mess, the better.

He followed Ezra across the adjoining road and into a quiet, residential street. A family in an SUV drove by and disappeared around the intersection. They were alone.

Ezra continued forward and tapped number onto his phone's screen. "I'll get a taxi waiting when we get to Bloor."

"Wait," Henrik brought out his Blackberry. "Can't believe I didn't think of this before. I'll just call Ned. My driver, remember? If he's not still passed out at the wheel..."

"Huh. I hope he liked the tiramisu I left him."

Henrik dialed the chauffeur's number and thankfully, the call connected. Henrik walked and talked, assuring Ned that he and Ezra were still alive, then agreeing on a nearby intersection for them to be picked up.

Barely a second after Henrik said goodbye, he heard the quick patter of footsteps rushing them to their left. Henrik's instinct to bodycheck the figure kicked into high gear but he managed to stop himself right before contact. Their perpetrator wasn't some big bruiser, but a short, squat man in a backwards cap and thick glasses. He held a camcorder in front of his plump, greasy face.

"Henrik! Henrik!" the man shouted, "This is for TMZ. Henrik! I'm with TMZ, wanna chat for a second?"

" _Fuck_." He was so sure no one saw them. Henrik gently pressed into Ezra's back and increased their pace. "Come on, just don't look at him."

Mr. TMZ followed. He never took his eyes off the screen. "Henrik, where are you two going? On a date? Going to Church Street? JustJared says you two only met this morning, is that true? Have you two been dating longer than that? How many professional athletes do you think are currently in the closet? Any words of encouragement for them? Were you inspired by your NFL counterpart Michael Sam? What do you think of the U.S. Senate passing House Bill 1523?"

Henrik's free hand closed into a fist. "Get out of my face and leave us alone. I'm only going to say it once." It wasn't a threat, but a statement.

Mr. TMZ changed tactics and skipped to the other side of the pair. He centered his lens over Ezra's mortified face. "Hey, Ezra? Why did PopViral fire you earlier today? Was leaking that picture on their Twitter account your way of getting revenge on them? Ezra?"

" _Hey_." Henrik blocked the younger man with his body. His patience was wearing down to a razor thin edge. "You don't talk to him, you understand me? Get that camera out of his face and walk away."

"$10,000," Mr. TMZ said.

"What?"

"Give me $10,000 and I'll turn this off. That's how much they're gonna pay me for this story."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Hey, your salary is public knowledge, man. I know you can afford a hell of a lot more than that."

Henrik moved forward with a furious glare, getting in the paparazzi's face. He wasn't above using his size to intimidate someone. "What I can afford is none of your fucking business."

"Uh, Viking," Ezra touched his arm. "Let's go. This isn't worth it."

Mr. TMZ flipped his lens back at the other subject. "Ezra, a lot of our gay readers want to know- you're the bottom in this relationship, right?"

That was it. That was all the justification Henrik needed. Before Mr. TMZ could even understand what was happening, Henrik grabbed the camcorder out of his grubby little hands and flung it onto the sidewalk. The device shattered into shards of jagged plastic and glass across the concrete.

"My _camera_!" the pap cried. He dropped and raked his fingers through the useless, broken pieces. "What the fuck, bro?!"

Henrik took Ezra's hand and continued down the street. "Send the bill to my manager," he called over his shoulder.

* * *

"Jesus, Henrik! That guy could sue you, you know that?" Ezra struggled to keep up as they crossed the street toward Bloor. It was funny how quickly their roles had reversed once they left his apartment.

"I didn't like the way he was talking to you," Henrik said plainly.

"Hey." Ezra stopped them both. "If we run into any more of those guys, you can't just break all their cameras, okay?"

"But I can't let them say things like that and do nothing."

Ezra remembered Henrik saying he got into fights on the ice all the time. If he could take down guys even bigger than him with no problem, Ezra shuddered to think what could happen to one of those schlubby photographers.

He tugged the lapel of Henrik's suit jacket and lowered his voice. "I know, Viking. But you're gonna have to hold back for my sake. Please?"

Henrik's eyes lingered on Ezra's hand against his chest. He softened. "Only because you asked so nicely." A car idling at the end of block suddenly honked at them - a familiar, charcoal-colored Cadillac SUV.

"Ned," Henrik realized. They ran the short length down the street and Ezra slipped into the vehicle, still jumpy with adrenaline. Henrik followed inside and closed the door. He acknowledged Ned with a quick nod.

"Thank for meeting us here," Henrik said.

"You really saved us a trip," Ezra agreed. "Thank you."

Ned tipped his hat from the driver's seat. "I should be thanking you for the tiramisu, lad. You two been staying out of trouble?"

Ezra exchanged a sideways glance with Henrik. Ned didn't seem too aware of their current predicament. "Yeah. I'm making sure of it."

A grin creased Henrik's face. He didn't argue.

Traffic was surprisingly light considering it was rush hour on a Friday. Ned dropped them off at PopViral's office in the financial district not long after leaving Bloor street. Ezra craned his neck to scan the intimidating skyscraper up to its highest point. Henrik squeezed his shoulder. "Are you ready for this?"

He didn't think he was, in all honesty. His nerves were starting to get the better of him. _But I've come this far, haven't I?_

Ezra checked Twitter from his phone to make sure that picture was still live on PopViral's account. It was. Reminding himself of the damn thing was enough to stoke his conviction. "Yeah," Ezra replied. "I'm ready."

They entered the building's ornate marble lobby. As Ezra called an elevator he noticed the scrutinizing eyes of a nearby security guard. Henrik noticed him too and shot the man a curt, daunting glare. The guard weakly cleared his throat and looked down at his shoes.

The elevator doors parted to reveal a tired janitor leaning against a mop handle. He mumbled a greeting as they entered. Ezra pressed PopViral's floor number and exhaled.

"Hey," Henrik said. "You got this, alright? I'll be right there with you."

God, if the janitor hadn't been standing in the corner, Ezra would have jumped the man right then and there.

_What is it with the two of us and the elevators here?_

Ezra smiled. "Thanks. That's all I need."

"If anyone tries to film us, I could smash their camera."

" _Henrik_."

"Come on, that was funny!"

Henrik was only trying to calm him down, just as Ezra had done for him after their confrontation with Mr. TMZ. It was working.

The elevator _dinged_ at their stop and Ezra stepped into the hall, centered and focused.

* * *

"PopViral Toronto, can you hold? Thank you. PopViral Toronto, please hold. Thank you. PopViral Toront- ohh. Shit."

The receptionist stared slackjawed as Ezra and Henrik stepped into the office entrance. She lost her grip on the phone and dropped it onto her desk.

"Ezra- you shouldn't- are you- did you have- why are-?"

"Is Heather still in?" Ezra didn't blink. He was ready to have a nice, long chat with his former manager.

The receptionist swallowed. "If you left anything at your desk, we'll courier it to you by Monday."

"Is she in or not?"

"Yes, but-"

"Great!" Ezra idly slapped his hands against his thighs. "You know, it's passed 5 pm, you really should be getting home." He marched by the reception desk and into the office. Henrik shrugged at her, mildly apologetic, and followed.

Ezra walked into the open plan section of the office and quickly understood that the receptionist was not, in fact, the only employee putting in extra time. The entire space was a flurry of activity, with voices shouting into phones, fingers rapidly typing on keyboards, and his former coworkers clumping together in groups of two and three to engage in deep, animated conversation. The Foosball table, for once, was silent and still.

"Christ," Ezra said under his breath. He thought another scandal had broken out - maybe Taylor Swift had been caught making out with Sean Penn or something - but a quick glance at the various laptops around the room put that theory to rest. Photos of Henrik and Ezra were _everywhere_ , plastering not only digital screens but the office walls as well. There were images from Ezra's public Instagram and Facebook accounts, profile pictures and dumb selfies with friends and Rhubarb. Henrik's visual presence was even more prominent - the staff had gotten hold of his NHL head shots, team photos, sports magazine spreads, and screencaps from interviews.

PopViral wasn't just owning the scandal, they were a _dedicating_ themselves to it.

"People. People!" a voice from the crowd emerged. Henrik and Ezra - who still hadn't been noticed by anyone - looked up along with everybody else to find his former manager, Heather. She was a tall woman with curly red hair and a pinched face. "People, I just want to thank you all for your hard work. Leveraging what could have been a serious PR disaster has actually been the greatest boon for PopViral all year. It's barely been a day and ad revenue has already increased 500% up from last month _alone_. And we have Hezra to thank for it."

A chorus of hollers followed a round of applause. A sudden coldness hit Ezra's core. He couldn't believe what he was seeing or hearing.

"What's 'Hezra'?" Henrik whispered into his ear.

"Fuck. I think that's our super-couple name. Like Brangelina," Ezra whispered back.

"I know we've all put in a long day already," Heather continued, "But we can't control the zeitgeist, we can only ride it until it bucks us off. How are we doing with interview requests? Follow up?"

A young woman Ezra knew from marketing raised her hand. "Nobody from the Portland Knights has gotten back to us, we've tried publicity and management and even the owners. But a tipster got us Coach Joseph Taggert's direct number. When we called he- um- told us to fuck ourselves with a broom handle."

Henrik snorted softly.

"What about our former golden boy?" Heather asked. "Who's tried to get a hold of Ezra Grayson?"

"Ezra hasn't said shit all day," a man from business development said. "Hasn't returned our calls, his voicemail is full, and all his social accounts have been radio silent."

Heather crossed her arms, thinking. "How do we incentivize Ezra to give us the first interview? Before Gawker, before Entertainment Tonight Canada, before all those guys try to get to him first?"

Ezra heard enough. A bold new feeling flooded him. "I'll give you all a statement right now."

Every head in the office turned in unison. Ezra's posture grew rigid - He never liked having a room's collective attention. But he couldn't back down now.

"Jesus," Heather pressed a hand against her heart. "How long have you been standing there?" The nervous eyes of PopViral's staff ping-ponged from Ezra to Henrik and back again.

"You want me to talk?" Ezra's voice reached a volume he'd never used at work before, "I'll talk! In the span of one hour, you miserable assholes have turned my life into a complete circus, so yeah, I'm _very_ interested in letting you all know what's on my mind!"

Heather raised her palm. "Ezra. I understand you may feel upset at what the situation has become, but you need to lower your voice. You're an adult in a professional office. Conduct yourself like one."

He couldn't hold it in. Every angry, toxic thought he had about PopViral, every clenched stomach, bitten lower lip, all the shit he had to take, all the questionable practices he'd been forced to turn a blind eye to - it all spewed forth in one ugly geyser.

"No, you don't get to tell me what to do anymore. I'm not your employee. And thank you, by the way, for releasing me from this pit of despair. Truly the nicest thing you could've done. I don't have to sit through any more soul-destroying meetings where you force everyone to pitch the same vapid, brain-dead pieces about Kylie Jenner or the dog who looks just like that idiot who went viral for setting his farts on fire in a Wendy's bathroom. And by the way? Throwing two sentences in with a collection of stupid gifs isn't an article. Asking Hillary Clinton who her 'bae' is doesn't qualify as an informative interview. Forcing your unpaid interns to pick up workloads heavier than your paid staff isn't ethical employment. I mean, god, if the journalists who invented the modern conception of news knew that you'd be fucking and disfiguring their corpses beyond all recognition, they'd have begged to be cremated!"

If the room was quiet before, there was a complete and utter _absence_ of sound now. It reminded Ezra of outer space - an airless vacuum where life wasn't possible. He meant to start off with a firm but polite request to take his picture down from their Twitter account, but what ended up coming out of his month was a year's worth of repressed frustration and anger.

_Lovely. They're sure to honor any plea I have now that I've been so kind and delicate._

Heather spoke after a very long and very awkward pause. "I'm not sure what you came here for, Ezra. Some sort of moral victory? Have that, if you want. You're right. You're _better_ than us. If that helps you sleep at night, you can take it."

"No. I came here to ask you to take the picture down."

A few mild titters from the crowd. Heather stared at him. "The picture you tweeted from our account, you mean?"

"That was an accident," Henrik said. A few eyes in the crowd widened upon hearing the hockey captain speak for the first time. Despite the thick tension, a handful of women still lustfully gawked at the man.

Heather narrowed her eyes at Henrik before turning back to Ezra. "I suggest you read your employment contract again, Mr. Grayson. We own the rights to any original visual media our staff uploads to any PopViral branded social media channel."

"But I _wasn't_ an employee when it was posted!"

"That excuse really doesn't work in your favor. Acts of revenge or sabotage by former staff are not protected."

Ezra stopped himself from laughing in disbelief. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Do you realize that we could sue you for what you've done, Mr. Grayson? By owning your mistake, your 'accident', as it were - we're actually protecting you from severe legal repercussions. Do you _understand_ that?"

"He's not the only one involved in this," Henrik said. "Ezra wouldn't risk his reputation or mine for what you're accusing him of." The anger vibrating off him was tangible. He was holding back. A lot.

Heather raised her chin. "I'm not afraid of you or the Portland Knights, Mr. Ford. I have nothing more to say on this but if you'd like to talk further, we have a retainer of lawyers who'd be more than happy to take your call."

Amused smirks and snickering spread through the room. Heather turned away with a knowing look and disappeared back into her office. One by one, the rest of the staff returned to their jobs as well.

Henrik and Ezra stood rooted to the spot, unable to process what had just happened. Josh from sports approached them with a too-casual nod. "Hey! Great game last night, Viking! I'm a huge fan."

The frosty Swede in Henrik bore down on him with the coldest glare Ezra had ever seen. Josh scampered off a second later. "Nice meeting you!"

* * *

The fortress Ezra was so intent on storming had a better line of defense than he expected.

Shaken, the twosome gathered in the hall outside the office. Henrik pushed the elevator button and shook his head. "You have no idea how much I wanted to lay into those bastards. When someone would send me one of those PopViral quizzes or articles, I never thought much of it. I just thought that it was some cute little distraction written by a bunch of carefree hipsters. But, Christ almighty, these people have no journalistic integrity."

Ezra pressed a fist against his forehead and leaned into a wall. "I can't believe I just did that. I walked in so cocky and so sanctimonious."

"Listen." Henrik pulled him away from the wall. "The Knights have lawyers on retainer too. They'll figure something out."

"Heather's right. They actually could have sued me for uploading that picture, accident or not. I don't have a job, I can't afford to be sued! I can't even afford rent after March! I shouldn't have come here. Fuck, what was I thinking?"

The elevator dinged. Ezra and Henrik entered, the mood dark and somber.

"We tried," Henrik offered. "Doesn't that count for something?"

Ezra wanted to come up with an answer but fell short. As the elevator doors slid back shut, Henrik hit the emergency stop button. A loud buzz locked the cabin in place.

"What are you doing?"

Henrik stared into his eyes. "I don't want you walking out of here feeling like you lost."

Ezra's whole being felt deflated, airless. "Let's just forget this. It was stupid."

"No, it wasn't. And I mean it. They're gonna say whatever they need to get their clicks and their ad revenue. But you've still got your dignity. That's what you were fighting for. That's what you can leave with."

Ezra wished that he could've made the last twenty minutes - hell, the last _hour_ \- disappear. But when his gaze met Henrik's brave, assured face, he knew he was right.

"You're really good at talking people down from the ledge, you know that?" Ezra moved closer.

"I've had some experience," Henrik admitted. "Can't tell you how many times Xavier's wanted to quit the team. Plus, I don't like seeing you upset."

"This whole situation was my fault. I just wanted to make it right."

"Well, you said you wanted to let them know how you felt. I think they got that message loud and clear."

Ezra laughed. "That's one mission accomplished, then." He was more than thankful that he had Henrik's warmth and stability to anchor him. If this whole media blitz was threatening to spin him out of orbit, at least Henrik would be spinning with him.

Henrik looked around. "I think this is the same elevator car we were in this morning."

"Oh, right." Ezra followed his gaze. "God, that feels like forever ago. I can't believe how shy you were."

"I was trying to be a gentleman." Their chests were practically touching.

"I'm glad you got over that," Ezra grinned.

"Take that back," Henrik said playfully. He leaned in and brushed his face against Ezra's.

Ezra breathed in Henrik's cologne and touched the man's chest. "You know I'm kidding. You're the sweetest guy I've ever met."

" _Ever_?"

"Ever."

"You sure about that?" Henrik's furry mouth was tantalizingly close to his. "Because certain wingers I've punched during games have described me as a grizzly bear on ice."

"Oh, your opponents might think you're scary, but I know the truth."

Henrik looked at him, deeply and sincerely. "I'm really glad we gave this thing a second shot."

"Me too."

Their lips pressed together. Whatever was happening around them right now was too complicated to dissect - the only thing that felt right was Henrik, his wolf grin, his rough hands, his deep and comforting voice.

"This is all I want," Ezra murmured into the kiss, barely aware that he'd spoken at all. Henrik's mouth closed over his and softly bit his quivering lower lip. Ezra groaned and pushed into Henrik's body, backing them both into a wall. Henrik's thick erection shifted against Ezra's stomach. Skin prickled as the friction between them grew more feverish, desperate. Before he could even process what he was doing, Ezra's hand was down Henrik's pants and groping his bulge. Henrik returned the favor by stroking his palm against Ezra's denim-covered crotch. Both men were rock hard. At Ezra's gasp, Henrik lifted the younger man's shirt, exposing his flat stomach and two pert, red nipples. Henrik took one in his mouth and sucked. Ezra's back arch and his entire body surged with pleasure. Henrik moved to the other nipple and did the same, licking and biting ever so gently, letting the stray hairs of his beard graze the sensitive skin.

Jesus. Ezra didn't know what possessed either of them. Were they really in this exact same elevator this morning? And neither of them were bold enough to make the first move? That seemed like forever ago. A different life, almost.

Henrik's eager mouth traveled up Ezra's chest and toward his neck. He wet the skin with his tongue, relishing Ezra's taste. Ezra groaned and deepened his strokes against the man's swollen cock. Henrik's teeth lightly dragged across the creamy smooth curve of Ezra's neck.

"Oh my god," Ezra exhaled. "Don't stop." He shut his eyes and saw fireworks exploding in the darkness of his mind. The friction of Henrik's hot mouth on his skin made his nerve endings tingle and stir. He bunched his fingers into the back of Henrik's hair, slowly and subtly guiding the man along his neck and up to Ezra's mouth. They kissed again, tongues dancing in and out, dampening each other with saliva, intense and sloppy and neither of them caring.

A loud crackle of static made them jump apart like two kids caught playing seven minutes in heaven.

"Uh, hello?" a fizzy, distorted voice said from the elevator panel's audio speaker. "This is building maintenance. Did somebody press the emergency stop button? Is everything okay in there?"

"We're fine!" Henrik shouted. His face was still red with passion. "We hit it by accident. Sorry about that."

After a moment, the elevator car hummed back to life and started its descent to the ground floor. The two men exchanged an embarrassed smile.

"Hey, Ezra?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you do me a small favor?"

Ezra nodded. "What is it?"

"You might want to get your hand off my cock before we hit the lobby." He pointed to his crotch.

"Oh." Ezra released the man's girth. "Sorry."

Henrik chuckled as he readjusted things and zipped back up. "This elevator's got a damn dangerous hold on us."

Ezra wiped a bead of sweat off the side of his forehead. He wasn't kidding.

* * *

Henrik escorted Ezra out of the office building without any further incident. No photographers or fans had followed them to PopViral, thankfully, and they managed to find their way back to Ned's car up the street within moments.

"Where to now, gentlemen?"

Ned's question caught both of them off guard. Henrik glanced at his watch. It was nearly 6 pm.

 _Fuck. Press conference in two hours. And Coach Taggert - whose calls I've been pointedly ignoring all day - is going to ream me out for at least an hour before it gets started_...

His flight back to Portland was at 6:30 am sharp which only added to his anxiety. It was unlikely that he'd get any sleep tonight even though he was exhausted. Henrik's eyebrows pinched together. A headache was coming on.

Ezra's inquisitive young eyes searched him. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just thinking about everything I have to do tonight."

"Right. Of course." Ezra drew in a shaky breath. "I should get back to my sister's and let Rhubarb off her hands."

"Where does she live, sir?" Ned asked.

"North York, right by Hendon Park. I hope that's not too far?"

"Not at all, sir." Ned started the engine and peeled back onto the street.

"If it's too much trouble I could just hop the subway, or something," Ezra proposed.

Henrik shook his head. "I'm not sending you back out there with those vultures. If they followed you home, who knows what else they'd be willing to do. I'm coming with you."

"What about your conference? Don't you need to start prepping for it?"

"I'll crash it late if I have to. Fuck, I'd drop out altogether if it wasn't part of my contract."

Ezra offered a sympathetic look. "I stand by my earlier advice, you know. Just launch a hockey puck at the first journalist who tries to talk shit."

"Yeah. I was starting to wish I had one back at PopViral..."

A clutch of anger took him over. Listening to that awful Heather condescend and dismiss Ezra's feelings, watching the entire staff gloat and pat themselves on the back for sensationalizing someone else's mistake... urgh. He controlled himself for Ezra's sake, but god _damn_ , he really wanted to flip over a few tables in that joint.

Henrik raised Ezra's hand to his lips and kissed it. The surprised, appreciative smile and subtle goosebumping of his skin calmed Henrik instantly. Before the first league game Henrik ever played, he was so nervous that it took a stiff swig of whiskey to stop his hands from shaking so he could tie his skates. It did the trick. He decidedly quickly after that he couldn't take a drink every time the Knights had a match - he'd never be able to skate in a straight line. Kissing Ezra before every game, however, seemed like a _much_ better alternative to soothe his nerves.

Ned drove them north from the downtown core, through midtown and up into North York. Henrik watched Ezra's boyish face survey his window. He hoped - prayed - that they'd both make it through this day. There was so much he wanted them to do and experience together. Henrik just didn't want the media circus that surrounded them to be the tipping point. Not just for Ezra, but for Henrik himself. There had already been a few uncomfortable instances that reminded him of the fallout from his relationship with Patrick...

 _No_ , Henrik warned himself. _You're not gonna think about that right now. Ezra's nothing like Patrick_.

As true as that may have been, the circumstances around both relationships were frighteningly similar. Patrick had started as a whirlwind romance too, and once the media started catching on to what might have been happening in Henrik's still-closeted  
life-

"Henrik- hey-?"

"What?" Henrik's breaths came quick as he emerged from the memory. His mouth felt like sandpaper.

"You're squeezing my hand kind of hard. It's starting to hurt."

Henrik let go immediately. "Shit, I'm sorry." He didn't know his own strength sometimes. "Are you alright?"

Ezra flexed his fingers. "Nothing a little reconstructive surgery won't fix." Henrik's features tightened. "Relax! Dude, I'm kidding. This press conference is really bugging you, isn't it?"

"Just a little bit." Henrik ran his sweaty palms up and down his lap and stared out of the car window.

* * *

Ned dropped the pair off at Violet's townhouse, which was a warm brick building at the end of a quiet, neighborly road. North York, while still an official part of Toronto, had a distinctly suburban vibe to it. No rushing cars, no screaming crowds, and definitely no paparazzi hordes.

Ezra knocked on Violet's door as Henrik hung back in the driveway to speak with Ned. His sister answered barely a second later and threw her arms around him.

"Ez, holy shit, I am so sorry about everything," Violet squeezed out in one breath.

"Jesus, nobody died, Vi. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. But, uh, between us, I am a little worried about..." He nudged his head toward Henrik, who was now bidding Ned farewell as the Cadillac backed out the driveway and into the street.

"Ah," Violet caught on. "The big guy."

Henrik walked up to them, sighing. "Ned just got an emergency call from another client. He had to go. If we need to get back, I can just grab a taxi." He turned to Ezra's sister. "Violet, hi. Thank you so much for-"

Violet grabbed him in a hug and squeezed for dear life. Ezra almost laughed. Aside from family, she almost never hugged anyone.

Henrik's innately awkward Swede surfaced again. "Oh, er. That's, uh, that's nice. Thanks."

Violet invited them inside. Her townhouse was impeccably furnished, modern but warm, stylish but not remotely pretentious - the home of a fashionista who valued comfort. Ezra always liked visiting, it was certainly a nice change of pace from his hum-drum Ikea apartment.

"I just came to get Rhubarb," Ezra said. "Really, I don't want to put you out too much."

"No way. You guys are staying for dinner. Henrik, you in?" Violet rested her hands on her hips. "I've got every decent Indian place in the city in my contacts list."

"Sure," Henrik answered, but his attention was on the townhouse. "Your place is really beautiful."

"Wow. It's actually quite nice to hear that from a man who doesn't want to sleep with me, for once." Violet grinned and patted Henrik's considerable chest as she walked by. "I'm just gonna grab a few menus from my office. Ez, you wanna help, or can I just order goat with everything?"

"God, not again," Ezra rolled his eyes and started to follow her. Weird, how quickly he fell back into his role as put-upon little brother when they were together.

"Henrik, make yourself at home!" Violet trilled. "You're welcome to anything in the fridge!"

Without waiting for Henrik to respond, Violet yanked Ezra into her office den and closed the door. The shrill smile on her face vanished. "Okay, tell me everything."

"Vi," Ezra groaned.

"Not _everything_ -everything, obviously. That picture of you two really sets a scene. But just give me enough to fill in the blanks."

Rhubarb emerged from his resting place under Violet's desk and ran as fast as his stubby paws could take him to his owner. "Rhubarb! You little bread loaf with legs!" Ezra scooped the excited little guy into his arms. Rhubarb gave his owner his requited three licks before the dog started sniffing maniacally around his neck.

Ezra colored. Rhubarb could probably smell Henrik all over him.

"Hey, hey," Violet snapped her fingers. "Eyes on me. You're not getting out of this house until I get the lost chapter of the Hezra story."

Ezra sighed heavily. She could be such a gossip hen sometimes, a trait passed down from their scandal-loving dad and soap opera aficionado mom. He took a moment to thank whatever deity was listening for their parents being in Italy on vacation. He doubted anyone in Milan knew or gave a shit about what a Swedish-American hockey player was doing with an unemployed Canadian.

"Fine," he conceded. Rhubarb jumped from his arms to the makeshift blanket pile he'd been sleeping on.

Ezra told Violet the whole damn saga: accidentally snapping the photo, having a deep heart-to-heart with Henrik about their future and agreeing to see each other again, the photographer in the courtyard, discovering the photo had been posted to Twitter, the mob of paparazzi outside his building, Henrik breaking Mr. TMZ's camera, confronting PopViral with no real success...

He had to admit that unloading the full, strange narrative on someone else had a therapeutic effect on him. By the time he finished, Ezra's joints relaxed, his muscles unclenched, and his jaw didn't feel quite as tight. It happened, it was real, and now it was all out in the open.

"Fuck my life," Violet eventually said. "Do you realize that, like, an entire year's worth of normal-people-stuff has happened to you in the span of nine hours?"

"It's occurred to me," he noted flatly. "But I don't think the paparazzi mob falls under the realm of normal-people-stuff."

Violet took a seat at her work desk. "And what about the big guy? You said you were worried about him?"

"A little bit." Ezra settled onto a day bed across the room. "I mean, I still feel awful. I'm the reason this shitstorm is happening."

"He didn't seem mad at you."

"He's not. At least, I don't think. But since we left PopViral he's been a little... distant... and quiet. I don't want to prod him too much. He's supposed to speak to the press tonight about last night's game but they're just gonna rake him through the coals over this. Over something _I_ did." Ezra pushed a frustrated sigh out of his throat. "Do you think I fucked this up, Vi?"

"Do you think Henrik is the kind of guy who wouldn't be honest with you?"

"Well... I don't think so but I haven't known him that long."

"Doesn't matter. What do you feel in your gut? If he wasn't an honest guy, he wouldn't have said he wanted to keep seeing you after today. Which is something _I_ could have told your dumb ass and I'd only just met the man. Ez, he's crazy about you. You see that, right? He stuck by you after the picture leaked. He followed you on that insane crusade to your former office and then all the way up here to North York."

She was right. He knew it, deep down.

Violet continued, "If he seems a little detached, you know, that's _fine._ It's his life, too. I've dated my share of jocks, they're not the quickest on their feet when it comes to expressing themselves. The man probably just didn't get a chance to process what's been happening until now."

Ezra's gaze lifted to meet hers. "Did I mention before how weird it is when you say wise shit like that? Seriously, stop it."

Violet flung a throw pillow at him. Ezra dodged a second too late, laughing. Rhubarb yipped from his blanket.

She grabbed her phone. "Now help me choose which curries to order before I throw my chair at you next."

* * *

Henrik walked into Violet's surprisingly large backyard and breathed in the cool outdoor air. He couldn't remember the last time he had a quiet moment like this to himself. Lord knows he needed it.

He sat at the stoop of Violet's porch and ran a hand over his beard, the way he always did when he felt tense. Patrick had been hanging over his thoughts lately like a grey cloud thick with rain. Henrik truly wanted to believe that Ezra was nothing like his former lover. Patrick was a horribly manipulative opportunist, a selfish man who saw Henrik as his meal ticket. Henrik was ashamed that he never saw any of it coming - the man had withheld his true intentions until the worst possible moment.

Urgh. Henrik used to be so god damn taken with Patrick. He thought he actually loved him. Henrik spent his teen years and early twenties dating women and was terrified of letting another man into his life. And when he finally took the chance, well...

Henrik shut his eyes. It didn't take long for his mind to transport him back into that stuffy press room within Portland's Rose Garden Arena. He remembered how thick with dread the air felt that day, two damn years ago, as he solemnly took his seat before a row of microphones. The unnerving chorus of camera clicks and flashes only made the situation one thousand times more surreal. They all knew why they were in the room. They'd all heard the same rumor, seen the same grainy nighttime photos of an unidentified man - Patrick - leaving his penthouse at 3 am one night. It struck him as funny, how the press had all seen Patrick's face but they knew nothing about him. They certainly didn't know about the horrible threat Patrick imposed on him the night before.

" _Before we start questions, I would like to make a statement regarding a persistent rumor that's been making the trades these past couple of weeks_."

Damn. Henrik still knew every word he said that day. Every syllable, every pause, every nervous breath was embedded in his mind.

" _My name is Henrik Ford. I'm 28 years old, I've been playing for the Portland Knights for eight years now. I was named captain two years ago and it changed my life. I got where I am today by working hard for it, by taking matters into my own hands. And that's what I'm doing today. I'm addressing this rumor and laying all the speculation to rest. I am a gay man._ "

What happened after those five words left his mouth, Henrik didn't know. That was the only part of the day he couldn't recall. Adrenaline, fear, and relief did wild things to a person's memory, and all three sensations had clouded the aftermath of his announcement. He was the first and only man in the National Hockey League's history to come out of the closet. That was huge. But his real reason for coming out was his greatest shame, a blade in his gut that dug just a little deeper every time someone called him a 'hero' of the gay community.

Henrik's mind propelled him back one day before the announcement. He was in his penthouse now, staring at Portland's city lights from his terrace. It was midnight and cold as hell. Patrick walked in, a sharp, handsome sight as always. He worked for the district attorney and never looked less than perfect. Henrik thought they were going to discuss Valentine's Day plans, but the tight, drawn look on Patrick's face was anything but romantic. Apparently, Patrick had been biding his time. Waiting for the right moment to strike. And that night, he decided to drop the bomb.

" _Either you tell the press you're in a relationship with me, or I take these pictures to Gawker_."

Henrik was sick with confusion. " _What pictures? Patrick, if you're talking about the pap who caught you leaving my place-_ "

" _I'm talking about_ _ **these**_ _, you moron_." Patrick meant the private pictures he'd taken on his phone. Intimate moments Henrik thought nobody else would ever see. " _You know how much Gawker will give me for these? I'll never have to work again_." Patrick offered him a day to think about it. Henrik threw him out of his penthouse right then and there.

Shaking with a fury he'd never known before, Henrik sat down and wrote the coming out statement that he'd recite to press the very next day. Valentine's Day. As a 'fuck you', Henrik made sure Patrick's name was nowhere to be found in it. Patrick wanted recognition and fame, which the bastard received for a short time after a high profile tell-all interview with Dateline. He never ended up leaking those pictures after Henrik's announcement, but the emotional and psychological damage was already done by that point.

The whole world saw Henrik's declaration as brave, fearless, and proud. But only he knew the truth: he'd been _threatened_ into revealing he was gay and he only did it out of fear. He never once felt like a hero.

Something small hit his foot. Henrik opened his eyes again and squinted in the early evening light. It took him a moment to re-emerge from memory lane.

"Mister!" a kid's voice called. "Can you throw back our ball?"

Henrik looked down and saw bright orange rubber ball by his left shoe. Violet's backyard didn't have a fence and it opened out into a road where a group of 6- or 7-year-old kids had gathered for a game of street hockey.

He picked up the ball and rose to stand. The shortest kid in the group actually gasped. "He's like a million feet tall!"

Smirking, Henrik bowled the rubber ball in their direction. One of the kids trapped it with his hockey stick. Another shouted his thanks, while the shortest kid took a second glance at Henrik. Something approaching recognition washed over his face.

"Hey," the half pint yelled. "Are you like a hockey player or something?"

_If only all fan interactions were like this. My life would be so much easier._

"Yeah. Something like that," Henrik replied.

The children returned to their game. He had to admit some of them weren't half bad as players.

"Hey, Henrik?" Violet called from the house. He turned to see her sticking her head out of the sliding patio door. She looked as uncomfortable as she sounded. "Your driver, Ned? He just came back. There's someone with him and he, uh, wants to talk to you."

He frowned. "Who?"

Violet stepped aside to reveal a bald, severe man wearing a Portland Knights hoodie. Henrik recognized him right away.

"Son," Coach Taggert said in his rough, Texan drawl. "You and I need to have a little chat."


End file.
